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LEISURE  HOUR  SERIES 


HWILTOB^S  WEIRD 


BY 


MRS.ALEXANDER 


im. 


snryHolt&Co.  Publisher 


Nev/York 


/- 


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The 


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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

California  Stats  Library 


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■or. 

ii/B  riKVKHOK.     Tram- 
i.i.   -.         ...•.*.  F.   l»>»<,  A.M. 
Coi:nt  KobTlA.     Tratutaled  bv  O.'D. 

Athle.y. 
I'ROHT'Kk.    7y-(«fiflo<«d  by  Carl  llinton. 
Craven,  Mme.  A. 

li.tiiuNcm.    'J'ran$lat4d  by  M.  M.  li. 
Droz,  Gustave. 

lUlini.AIN.      Triiritlated  by  .k.v. 
Au'irNii   A    SMiiNii.      7y-((ri»/i-|««<i    iy 
MS.     .Wir  aUiUori,  revueU. 
Freytag,  Gubtav. 

Is.^.i      ■ly.inl  lUil  iw  Mrt.  ifaleolm. 


hy  For.') 
IIERI)  ijai;thii.w. 
Richardson,  S. 

Clauihka   IIablowk.  (Coniienec.il.  I 
Slip  in   the   Fens,  A.      lliHttrntci 
Spielhagen,   F. 

What  the  Swallow  Sano.     Itaiu- 
luted  by  M,S. 
Turgenieff,  Ivan. 

Kathkhh  and  Roj»«.      'trniinlaiett  by 

Kuijf.iie  .Schuyler. 
Rmiike.     'JYdiitl'tledtiy  H'm.  F.  tt'ett. 
Liza .     'Iriiualated  l>u  »'.  «.  •'i.  UiiMon. 
ON  TiiK  EVK.      'I'ranilaled  by  C.  S. 

Turner. 
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THK   RTKPPK. 


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rtii.i\l  ituret  nitliin  reach,  Mettr».  Hkmry 
poll  priiit.  (in  receipt  of  the  uUvertUeil  pric. 
MPiKlliiK    nddroKK,    Dfacrlpllvr    rlrciilar» 
ofieu    a«    llie    iMiblliutloii    of   ne»v   hookii 

.(,  ier?5. 


AFRICA. 

The  History  of  Exploration  and  Adveniuie  as 
given  in  the  leading  authorities  from  Her- 
odotus to  Livingstone.  By  C.  H.  JONES. 
With    Map    and   Illustrations.     8vo.     $5.00. 

"Nearly  every  intelligent  reader,  especially  when  any  new  book  of 
African  travel  has  attracted  his  attention,  desires  to  have  a  distinct 
and  definite  conception  of  what  has  been  accomplished  and  of  what 
remains  to  oe  accomplished,  in  the  way  of  discoveiy ;  it  is  impossible, 
for  instance,  for  any  one  to  grasp  the  really  important  facts  iji  Dr. 
Schweinfurtb's  great  work,  or  in  Livingstone's  recently  published 
'Journals,'  without  knowing  just  how  far  the  discoveries  therein  re- 
coriled,  supplement  those  of  other  explorers,  and  what  relation  they  Ijear 
to  the  existing  l;)ody  of  geographical  and  ethnographical  knowledge. 
To  supply  .such  information  is  the  object  of  the  present  work.  If  it.s 
execution  corres2)onds  with  its  plan,  the  reader  will  iind  here  a  record 
of  explorations  in  Africa  form  the  time  of  the  Phamicians  to  the  death 
of  Livingstone,  comprehensive  enough  to  put  him  in  possession  of  all 
the  essential  facts  aud  successive  steps  in  the  opening  of  that  mysterious 
continent,  and  at  the  same  time  detailed  enough  to  give  him  a  fair  con- 
ception of  the  work  performed  by  each  of  the  more  prominent  indi- 
vidual explorers.  " — Preface. 

'"This  has  been  compiled  from- the  whole  range  of  African  liter- 
ature, Livingstone's  last  journals  included.  Each  of  the  leading  ex- 
plorers has  a  chapter,  arid  Livingstone  four.  Barth,  Overweg  and 
Richardson,  Andersson,  Du  Chaillu,  Burton  and  Speke,  Grant,  Baker, 
Stanlej%  Schweinfiirth,  and  Bartle  Fri-re  are  among  the  explorers 
whose  books  are  summarized  at  length,  and  there  is  also  a  valuable 
chapter  on  Christian  missions  in  Africa."—  ^Y.  Y.   7'ribunc. 

'■  To  those  who  would  become  acquainted  with  the  complex  ques- 
tion relating  to  the  geography  of  Africa,  the  present  work  ma}--  be 
recommended  as  combining  the  requisites  of  simplicity,  accuracy, 
and  interest.  .  .  .  One  of  the  books  of  the  season,  and,  Tin) ike 
most  of  the  current  literature,  will  remain  a  work  of  perpetual 
value." — Boston  Sdtunhiy  Evening  Gazette. 

"  A  cyclopedia  of  African  exploration,  and  a  useful  siibstitute  in 
the  library  for  the  whole  list  of  costly  original  works  on  that  sub- 
ject."— Boston  Advertiser. 

"This  volume  contains  the  quintessence  of  a  whole  library.  *  *  *  • 
What  makes  it  peculiarly  valuable  is  its  combination  of  so  much  material 
which  is  inaccessible  to  the  general  reader,  who  is  put  in  possession,  by 
this  means,  of  a  vast  amount  of  entertaining  as  well  as  instructive  infor- 
mation. The  excellent  map.  showing  the  routes  of  tlie  leading  explor- 
ers, and  the  numerous  illustrations,  increase  the  value  aud  interest  of 
the  book." — Boston  Globe. 

"As  a  survey  of  the  wliole  subject  of  African  travel  and  exploration 
the  book  is  invaluable,  and  as  such  we  commeml  it  to  all  such  as 
desire  to  become  better  acquainted  with  one  of  the  most  interesting 
I   "   themes  of  the  age." — Neic  Haven,  PaUadimn. 

"A  very  interesting  book,  made  yet  more  attractive  and  useful  hj 
many  illustrations." — Boston  Transcript. 


BY    THE    SAME   AUTHOR 
{^Leisure-Hour  Series) 

THE   WOOING   O'T 
WHICH    SHALL   IT  "BE  ? 

RALPH  Wilton's  wkird. 


If' 

LEISURE    HOUR     SERIES 


^ 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD 


A   NOVEL 


BY 


MRS.   ALEXANDER 

Author  of  "The  Wooing  O't  "  and  "Which  Shall  it  Be?" 


NEW   YORK 

HENRY   HOLT   AND    COMPANY 

1875 


John  F.  Tkow  &  Son,  Pkintrrs, 
B05-213  East  12T11  Sr.,  New  York. 


Hilt 

RALPH  WILTON'S   WEIRD. 


CHAPTER   I. 


I  ^HE  yellow  sunlight  of  a  crisp  October  day  was 

^     lighting  up  the  faded  though  rich  hangings,  and 

the  abundant  but  somewhat  blackened  gilding,  of  a 

large   study   or   morning-room  in   one  of  the  stately 

mansions  of  Mayfair,  nearly  fourteen  years  ago. 

Bookcases  and  escritoires,  writing-tables  and  read- 
ing-tables more  or  less  convenient,  easy-chairs,  print- 
stands  furnished  with  well-filled  portfolios,  pictures, 
bronzes,  all  the  signs  and  tokens  of  wealth,  were 
there,  but  nothing  new.  An  impress  of  extinct  vitality 
was  stamped  upon  the  chamber  and  all  it  contained. 
The  very  fire  burned  with  a  dull,  continuous  glow, 
neither  flamins:  nor  cracklins:. 

On  one  side  of  this  fire,  his  back  to  the  light,  in  a 
high  leathern  chair,  sat  an  old  man.  Originally  slight 
in  frame,  he  now  looked  attenuated.  His  blue,  brass- 
buttoned  coat,  though  evidently  from  the  hands  of  an 
artist,  hung  loosely   upon  him.     His  tliin    gray  hair 

S32655 


2  RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 

v/as  carelessly  brushed  back  from  a  brow  not  high  but 
peculiarly  wide,  a  straight,  refined  nose,  a  square-cut 
chin,  a  thin-lipped,  slightly  cruel  mouth,  a  tint  of  the 
deadliest  pallor — all  these  combined  to  make  his  coun- 
tenance at  once  attractive  and  repellent.  There  was 
a  certain  dignity  in  his  attitude  as  he  leaned  against 
the  side  of  the  large  chair,  in  which  he  was  almost 
lost,  one  thin,  small  white  hand  resting  on  the  arm  of 
his  seat,  the  other  playing,  in  a  manner  evidently 
habitual^  with  a  couple  of  seals  hanging  in  by-gone 
fashion  from  a  black  ribbon. 

He  was  gazing  at  the  fire,  and  listening  to  a  meelc 
looking  semi-genteel  young  man,  who,  seated  at  a 
table  with  a  neatly  folded  packet  of  papers  before 
him,  was  reading  aloud  from  a  lei  ter.  But  the  lecture 
was  interrupted. 

The  door  was  thrown  open  by  an  archdeaconal 
butler,  who  announced,  in  a  suppressed  voice  and  im- 
pressive manner,  "  Colonel  Wilton,  my  lord." 

"'Whereupon  entered  a  soldierly  looking  man,  above 
middle  height,  his  broad  shoulders  and  compact  waist, 
duly  displayed  by  an  incomparably  fitting  frock-coat, 
closely  buttoned,  and  worn  with  the  indescribable 
carriage  that  life-long  assured  position  and  habitual 
command  only  can  bestow.  A  bold,  sunbuint,  ;ind 
somewhat  aquiline  face,  a  pair  of  e;i[;lc-like  brown 
eyes,  and  plenty  of  red-brown  wavy  hair,  whisker,  and 


RALPH   WILTON'S   WEIRD.  3 

moustache,  entitled  the  possessor  to  be  termed  by  par- 
tial comrades  "a  good-looking  fellow.'' 

The  old  nobleman  stood  up,  and,  raising  his  cold, 
steely,  keen  blue  eyes,  with  an  extension  of  his  thin 
lips  intended  for  a  smile,  held  out  his  slight,  fine 
hand. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  Colonel  Wilton,"  he  said,  in  a 
low,  sweet  voice,  which  must  have  been  peculiarly 
charming  before  age  had  thinned  its  tones. — "  You 
may  leave  us,  Mr.  Robbins,"  he  added  ;  whereupon 
the  young  man  at  the  writing-table  took  up  his  papers 
and  departed. — "  I  am  obliged  to  you,"  continued 
Lord  St.  George,  "  for  obeying  my  summons  so 
promptly  ;  it  was  more  than  I  expected,  considering 
how  often  you  must  have  been  in  town  without  calling 
U230n  your  recluse  kinsman." 

"  My  dear  lord,"  said  Colonel  Wilton,  with  a  frank 
smile,  taking  the  chair  placed  for  him,  "I  never 
thought  a  visit  from  me  would  be  acceptable.  I  sup- 
posed that  I  must  excite  the  natural  aversion  which 
is  generally  felt  for  junior  and  unendowed  relatives, 
so  I  kept  out  of  the  way."  Colonel  Wilton's  voice 
was  not  unlike  his  host's,  though  deeper  and  richer. 

'' UiXendowed  or  not,  you  are  almost  the  only  rela- 
tive who  has  never  asked  me  a  favor,"  returned  the 
old  man. 

"  Had  I  wanted  anything  I  suppose  I  should  have 


4  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

asked  for  it,"  said  Colonel  Wilton,  good-humoredly; 
"  but  my  ambition  is  professional,  and  fortune  has 
favored  me  beyond  my  deserts." 

"  You  are  a  young  colonel." 

"  Only  brevet." 
^. "  Ay,  I  remember;  you  got  your   first  step  after 
that  affair  of  the  rifle-pits." 

"  Exactly  ;  then  I  volunteered  for  our  second  bat- 
talion when  the  mutiny  broke  out,  saw  a  good  deal  ot 
very  unpleasant  service,  w\is  slightly  hit,  got  fever, 
more  from  fatigue  than  wounds,  was  ordered  home  on 
sick  leave,  and  found  my  brevet  awaiting  me.  I  have 
just  returned  from  the  German  baths — and  now,  my 
lord,  I  am  at  your  service." 

"  You  want  to  know  why  I  sent  for  you — you  shall 
hear  presently ;  "  the  old  man  paused  abruptly. 
"  You  are  like,  and  yet  unlike,  your  father,"  he 
resumed  ;  "  you  know,  I  suppose,  that,  although  but 
firstxousins,  we  might  have  been  brothers,  we  hated 
each  other  so  well  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  something  of  it,"  returned  Wilton, 
coolly,  though  the  smiling,  frank  expression  passed 
from  his  face;  " but  I  have  lived  <»o  much  among 
strangers  that  I  am  lamentably  ignorant  of  the  family 
hatreds." 

Lord  St.  George  looked  up,  and  pi  lyed  more  rap- 
idly with  his  seals.     '■'  I  have  been  a  broken  man  for 


RALPH   WILTON'S   WEIRD.  5 

many  years,"  he  resumed,  after  a  short  pause,  "and 
latterly  a  complete  recluse.  Men  are  such  knaves, 
and  life  is  such  a  round  of  folly,  amusement,  and 
ambition,  and  '  lofty  aspirations,'  as  modern  scribblers 
have  it,  such  dust  and  ashes,  that  I  can  with  unusual 
truth  say  I  am  weary !  I  dare  say  you  are  wondering 
why  I  inflict  this  Jeremiad  upon  you — I  hardly  know 
myself;  however,  it  is  finished.  I  suppose  you  are 
aware  that  a  very  small  portion  of  my  property  is 
attached  to  the  title  of  St.  George  ?  " 

Colonel  Wilton  bowed,  and  listened  with  increas- 
ing interest.  "  My  Worzelshire  estates  and  Welsh 
mines/'  continued  the  old  lord,  "came  to  me  through 
my  mother,  and  are  to  dispose  of  as  I  choose.  A 
ruined  tower  and  some  worthless  moorland  is  all  that 
will  come  by  right  to  you.  It  is  in  my  power  to  make 
you  that  most  wretched  of  failures — a  poor  nobleman, 
or  to  bequeath  you  means  to  ruffle  it  with  the  best." 

"  You  must  do  as  seems  best  in  your  eyes/'  said 
Colonel  Wilton,  with  the  same  good-humored,  well- 
bred  independence  which  had  characterized  his  man- 
ner all  through  the  interview,  when  the  peer  stopped, 
as  if  for  a  reply. 

"  I  am  by  no  means  inclined  to  separate  my 
property  from  my  title — but  it  is  all  in  my  own  hands 
— I  have  no  claims  upon  me — no  nearer  relative  than 
yourself.     All  that  I  have  heard  of  you  is  tolerably 


6  RALPH   WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

creditable  to  the  family  loame,  and  I  am  inclined  to 
give  you  the  means  to  keep  up  the  old  title.  There 
is  one  point,  however,  on  which  I  should  like  you  to 
understand  and  conform  to  my  wishes.  You  are,  of 
course,  aware  of  the  circumstance  which  has  blighted 
my  life— the  latter  half  of  it  ?  " 

Although  it  seemed  impossible  that  any  living 
cheek  could  be  paler  than  Lord  St.  Georges,  it  grew 
a  shade  more  ghastly  as  he  spoke. 

'•  Yes,  yes,"  returned  Colonel  Wilton,  with  a  sort 
of  quick  sympathy.  "Do  not,  if  possible,  distress 
yourself  by  alluding  to  it." 

"I  must,  Ralph — I  must !  "  It  was  the  first  time 
the  viscount  had  called  him  by  his  name  ;  and  he 
continued,  in  a  firm  but  low  voice :  "  \Micn  my 
daughter,  my  only  child,  ilung  herself  into  an  abyss 
of  infamy  by  her  disgraceful  marriage,  I  at  once  and 
forever  renounced  her.  Now  1  only  care  that  the  in- 
heritors of  my  name  and  property  may  at  least  be  free 
from  the  taint  of  inferior  race  :  promise  me  you  will 
marry  a  gentlewoman,  a  girl  of  some  unblemished 
family,  which,  though  they  are  few,  can  still  be  found 
— promise  me  this,  and  I  will  leave  you  all  I 
possess." 

"  My  dear  lord,  it  is  not  necessary  to  promise. 
Poor  as  I  am,  I  should  never  dream  of  marrying  a 
plebeian;  but  1  v.oukl  raihcr  not  marry  for  some  years 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD.  y 

to  come.      I  am   little   more  than   thirty  ;  you  must 
really  leave  me  a  longer  spell  of  liberty." 

"  All  young  men  are  alike,"  returned  Lord  St. 
George.  "  You  put  off  the  evil  day  until  you  are  too 
old  to  see  your  children  grow  up,  or  to  guide  them,  or 
be  anything  but  a  semi-living  mummy,  fit  only  to  sign 
checks  for  other  people  to  expend.  Be  ruled  by  me ; 
accept  my  conditions,  quit  the  army,  spend  the  com- 
ing season  among  the  best  country-houses,  pick  out  a 
suitable  wife — as  my  heir,  you  ca/i  choose — go  into 
Parliament,  a  Crimean  man  will  be  well  received  by 
country  constituencies,  and  you  will  be  well  before 
the  world  by  the  time  I  make  way  for  you.  I  say 
nothing,"  added  the  old  peer,  with  an  air  of  courtly 
humility,  "  of  the  gratitude  such  a  course  would  enlist 
from  me  personally.  I  have  no  claim  of  that  descrip- 
tion to  urge  upon  you." 

"  Your  present  intentions  constitute  a  tolerable 
strong  claim,"  replied  Wilton,  smiling.  "At  any  rate 
I  should  be  very  happy  to  please  you,  and  I  heartily 
wish  you  could  will  away  your  title  as  your  estates. 
However,  on  the  subject  of  marriage,  I  can  make  Jio 
promise ;  at  present,  the  mere  fact  of  being  tied  seems 
to  me  to  outweigh  all  other  advantages.  I  hope  my 
bluntness  does  not  offend  you.  T  should  be  sorry  to  do 
so.  You  see,  thei^e  is  a  strong  dash  of  the  Bohemian 
in  my  nature,  though  I  am  not  without  ambilion,  and 


8  RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 

T  am  quite  aware  that  a  penniless  peer  is  a  most 
unfortunate  devil.  Still  I  cannot  make  up.  my  mind 
to  matrimony.  Nevertheless,  apart  from  promises,  I 
do  not  think  any  man  can  be  more  averse  to  the  idea 
of  marrying  out  of  his  own  class  than  I  am." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause,  Lord  St.  George 
looking  keenly  at  his  companion. 

"  I  do  not  think  you  seem  likely  to  commit  so 
egregious  an  error  ;  but  it  is  impossible -to  rely  on  the 
prudence  or  common  sense  of  any  man  ;  though  you 
are  certainly  past  the  age  when  men  will  sacrifice 
much  for  women.  So  I  must  be  content  with  prob- 
abilities." 

Another  short  pause,  during  which  Colonel  Wilton 
took  up  his  hat,  which  he  had  laid  on  the  carpet 
beside  him. 

"  Stay,"  said  the  old  peer.  "  It  is  long  since  I 
have  endured  to  see  any  of  my  own  people,  and  the 
effort  cost  me  something.  Now  you  are  here,  tell  me 
where  are  your  sisters,  your  brother  ?  " 

"  My  brother,  poor  fellow  !  he  died  of  fever  before 
he  left  college.  My  sisters  are  both  married,  the 
eldest  to  General  Ogilvie — he  is  in  command  at  Mon- 
treal— and  Gertrude  to  the  Dean  of ." 

"  I  remember  hearing  of  the  first  marriage,"  re- 
turned Lord  St.  George.     "  1  was  then  in  Greece." 

lie  continued  to  ask  for  various  persons,  respect- 


RALPH   WILTON'S  WEIRD.  g 

ing  very  few  of  whom  Colonel  Wilton  could  give 
any  information.  Meantime  the  light  was  fading, 
and  Lord  St.  George's  visitor  growing  somewhat 
impatient, 

"  You  must  forgive  me,  my  lord,  if  I  bid  you  good- 
morning.  But  when  I  received  your  message  I  had 
arranged  to  run  down  to  Scotland  to-night  for  some 
grouse-shooting,  and  I  am  to  dine  early  with  on  old 
brother-officer  before  starting." 

"  Then  I  must  not  detain  you,"  replied  Lord  St. 
George,  reluctantly.  "  I  am  glad  I  have  seen  you. 
I  feel  a  little  more  satisfied  about  the  future  of  my 
name  and  possessions.  I  wish  you  could  meet  my 
wishes  completely.  I  am  singularly  without  near  rela- 
tives— singularly  free  from  claims  of  any  kind." 

Colonel  Wilton  had  stood  up  as  if  in  the  act  to 
go  ;  he  hesitated  an  instant,  a^  his  kinsman  paused, 
and  said,  in  a  lower  tone  : 

"  I  presume,  then,  my  cousin — your  daughter — left 
no  children  ?  " 

"  Do  not  dare  to  name  her,  sir  !  "  cried  the  old 
man,  fiercely,  and  grasping  the  arms  of  his  chair  with 
nervous,  twitching  fingers.  "  She  has  long  ceased  to 
live  for  me  !  She — the  first  woman  in  a  long,  un- 
broken line — that  ever  brought  disgrace  upon  her 
name  !  Living  or  dead,  I  refuse  all  intelligence  con- 
cerning htr.     Her  children   may   exist,   or   not;  the 


\r 


10  RALPH   WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

poorest  beggar  that  crawls  in  the  street  is   more  to 


me  ! " 


"  You  have,  certainly,  a  cruel  disappointment  to 
complain  of,  my  lord,"  said  Wilton,  gravely  and  firmly. 
"But  the  children  would  be  sinless.  You  would  not, 
I  am  sure,  leave  them  to  suffer  poverty  and — " 

"  I  would — I  would  !  I  would  stamp  out  the 
spawn  of  such  a  viper  !  There — there,  leave  me.  I 
believe  you  are  an  honest  gentleman  ;  but  this  sub- 
ject you  must  never  touch  again.  Good-morning, 
Ralph  I  Let  me  see  you  on  your  return  from  the 
north." 

Colonel  Wilton  promised  that  he  would  call,  and 
pressing  the  thin,  wan  hand  extended  to  him,  left  the 
room. 

About  two  hours  later,  a  couple  of  gentlemen  sat 
at  dinner  in  a  private  room  in  Morley's  Hotel.  The 
cheese  period  had  been  reached,  and  the  sharp  edge 
of  appetite  blunted.  One,  who  seemed  the  host,  was 
Ralph  Wilton  ;  the  guest  was  a  tall,  rugged-looking, 
bony  man,  with  shaggy  eye-brows  and  a  large  hooked 
nose,  slightly  bent  to  one  side,  small,  sharp,  dark-gray 
eyes,  grizzled  black  hair,  and  a  wide  mouth,  with  a 
strong  projecting  under-jaw.  This  does  not  sound  like 
the  perfection  of  manly  beauty,  yet  Major  Moncrief 
was  not  a  bad-looking  man. 


RALPH    IVILTOX'S    WEIRD.  \\ 

"  And  when  do  you  intend  to  join  me,  Moncrief?" 
said  Colonel  Wilton. 

"  Kot  later  than  this  day  week." 

"  I  hope  not.  For  I  have  no  fancy  for  being  alone 
in  my  glory.-" 

The  conversation  flowed  somewhat  intermittently 
until  the  waiter,  placing  wine  and  olives  on  the  table, 
left  the  friends  alone. 

"  Help  yourself,"  said  Colonel  Wilton,  pushing  the 
claret  toward  Major  Moncrief.  "  Do  you  know,  I 
have  had  an  interview  with  that  curious  old  hermit, 
Lord  St.  George,  to- day  ? " 

"  Indeed  !     How  did  that  come  about  ? " 

"  I  found  a  note  from  him  at  the  club  this  morning, 
inviting  me,  very  politely,  to  call  any  day  after  three. 
So,  as  I  hope  not  to  see  London  again  for  some 
months,  I  went  at  once." 

"  You  are  his  heir,  are  you  not?  " 
"  To  his  barren  title — yes  ;  but  he  can  will  away 
his  wealth  as  he  likes.  Poor  old  fellow  !  He  had 
an  only  child,  a  lovely  girl,  I  believe,  and,  after  refusing 
some  of  the  best  matches  in  England,  she  ran  off  with 
an  artist  fellow  who  plaj^ed  the  fiddle,  or  sang  divinely, 
and  the  viscount  never  forgave  her.  I  only  know  the 
general  gossip,  but  I  have  been  told  she  died  in  fright- 
ful poverty.  I  ventured  to  say  a  word  in  favor  of  the 
possible  and  probable  children,  and  was  soon  pulled 


12 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 


up  for  my  pains.  How  idiotic  women  are,  and  yet 
how  keen  and  hard  at  times!  This  cousin  of  mine 
was  not  so  very  young  either ;  she  must  have  been  four- 
and-twenty." 

"Women  are  quite  incomprehensible,!' ejaculated 
Moncrief. 

Colonel  Wilton  laughed. 

"  Well,  old  St.  George,  it  seems,  sent  for  me  to 
induce  me  to  marrv  some  'Clara  Vere  de  Vere,'  in 
order  to  secure  the  sacred  title  and  acres  from  falling 
into  the  hands  of  a  half-breed  inheritor.  However, 
though  I  would  not  acknowledge  his  suzerainty  by 
giving  him  the  promise  he  wanted,  he  may  be  toler- 
ably sure  I  would  never  marry  a  second  rate  woman. 
I  do  not  mean  to  say  I  care  for  rank,  but  good  blood 
is  essential." 

"  I  do    not    fancy    you  are  much  of    a  marrying 


man." 


"  No  !  not  at  present.  I  shall  come  to  it  some 
day.  I  have  been  too  busy  to  have  had  an  attack  of 
the  love-fever  for  a  long  time." 

"You  were  badly  hit  in  that  afliair  with  Lady 
Mary,"  observed  Moncrief 

"  Well — yes !  But  I  made  a  rapid  recovery.  Then, 
matrimony  would  be  a  different  matter.  In  short,  if 
Lord  St.  George  will  just  give  me  a  year  or  two  more 
of  liberty,  1  dare  say  I  shall  be   n'ady  lo  present  him 


RALPH  WILTON'S  IVELRD.  13 

with  a  bride  of  the  desired  pattern.  I  really  have  no 
democratic  proclivities." 

"  Ah  ha,  lad  !  "  said  Moncrief,  in  his  unmistakable 
Scotch  tones,  "you  must  just  'dree  your  weird.'" 

"  So  must  every  one,"  returned  Wilton,  rising  to 
fill  his  cigar-case  from  a  box  that  stood  upon  the  side- 
board. "  But  I  think  I  have  survived  the  spooney 
period,  and  have  sown  my  wild  oats — not  that  I  have 
had  more  than  a  mere  handful  to  dispose  of.  On  the 
whole,  I  have  been  a  pattern  man — eh,  old  fellow?" 

"  Hum  !  Tiiere  have  been  more  extensive  crops," 
returned  the  major,  doubtfully.  "  Still,  do  not  be  too 
sure  of  yourself." 

"  Oh,  I  am  safe  enough.  And,  besides,"  he  con- 
tinued, returning  to  the  table  and  filling  his  glass, 
"  I  am  very  particularly  anxious  that  Lord  St.  George 
should  leave  me  something  wherewith  to  regild  the 
faded  honors  of  his  ancient  peerage.  I  confess  to  a 
mortal  dread  of  being  a  poor  peer.  If  my  old  kins- 
man does  not  leave  me  his  property,  I  will  never 
adopt  the  title,  but  be  plain  'Ralph  Wilton'  to  the 
end  of  the  chapter." 

"  You  might  do  worse,"  said  Moncrief,  dryly. 
"  As  I  said  before,  you  must  'dree  your  weird.'  " 

"Halloa!"  cried  Wilton,  suddenly;  "half-past 
seven,  by  Jove!  I  shall  have  a  close  shave  to  catch 
the  train  !  "     He  rang  the  bell,  ordered  a  cab  ;  hastily 


14 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


donning  his  overcoat  and  thrusting  his  cigar-case  into 
the  breast-pocket,  he  shook  hands  heartily  with  his 
friend.  "  Good-by,  old  fellow  ;  come  as  soon  as  you 
can,  and  let  the  moorland  breeze  sweep  the  cobwebs 
from  your  brain.  You  are  too  solemn  by  half  for  so 
good  a  comrade — good-by  !  " 

It  was  a  very  close  shave ;  but  Ralph  Wilton  was 
just  in  time.  The  bell  had  rung  before  he  had  taken 
his  ticket,  after  seeing  a  favorite  pointer  properly  dis- 
posed of  "  Here  you  are,  sir,"  cried  a  porter,  open- 
ing the  door  of  a  carriage.  Wilton  jumped  in,  and  the 
door  was  slammed.  "  Stop  !  I  say,  porter,"  he  shouted, 
as  he  glanced  at  the  only  other  occupant,  thinking  to 
himself,  "An  unprotected  female!  this  is  too  formid- 
able !  "  But  his  voice  was  drowned  in  the  loud  pant- 
ing of  the  engine,  and  they  were  off.  "  It  cannot  be 
helped,"  he  thought,  and  set  about  arranging  himself 
as  comfortably  as  he  could. 

His  companion  was  a  young  lady,  he  perceived,  as 
his  eyes  became  accustomed  to  the  lamp-light.  She 
was  in  black,  and  rather  thinly  clad  for  a  night-journey. 
Her  bonnet  lay  in  the  netting  overhead.  And  a  blue 
scarf  was  loosely  tied  over  her  head  and  cars.  She 
seemed  already  asleep,  though  Wilton  was  dimly  aware 
that  she  had  opened  a  pair  of  large  dark  eyes  to  look 
at  him.  She  was  a  serious  drawback  to  the  comfort 
of  his  journey.     But  for  her  he  could  make  a  bed  of 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  15 

the  cushions,  and  stretch  himself  at  full   length  ;  but 
for  her  he  could  solace  himself  with  unlimited  cigars, 
and  enjoy  the  freedom  of  loneliness.     Thinking  thus, 
he  stooped   forward  to  take   up  an   evening  paper  he 
had  snatched  at  the  last  moment,  and  his  cigar-case 
fell  from  his  pocket.     His  obnoxious  fellow-traveller 
opened  her  eyes.     "  If  you  smoke,"  she  said,  "  do  not 
mind  me  ;  it  may  help  me  to  sleep."     With  a  slight 
shiver  she  closed  her  eyes  again,  apparently  without 
hearing  Wilton's  thanks,      while  his  unspoken  male- 
dictions on  the  ill  chance  that  placed  her  in  the  same 
carriage  were,  in  some  mysterious  way,  silenced  and 
arrested  by  the  charm  of  a  soft,  sweet  voice,  delicate 
yet   full,  with  a  certain    sadness  in  its  tones,  and   an 
accent  not  quite  English.      "  A   gentlewoman,  I  im- 
agine," thought  Wilton,  as  he  moved  from  his  place  to 
the  centre   seat  opposite  her  to  be*  nearer  the  light. 
There  was  something  touching  in  the  childlike  aban- 
donment of  her  attitude  ;her  head  lay  back  in  the  angle 
of  the  division  she  occupied  ;  her  face  was  very  pale, 
and  a  dark  shade   under  the  eyes  bespoke    fatigue. 
Long  black  lashes  fringed  her  closed  eyes,  curling  back 
at  the  ends,  and  all  of  color  was  concentrated  in  her 
delicately-curved  lips.     Ralph  Wilton  could  not  help 
glancing  from  his  paper  to  her  f:ico,  and  forming  con- 
jectures respecting  her.     Why    did    her    people    let 
so  fair,  so  }X>ung  a  creature  wander  about  by  herself? 


1 6  RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 

But  he  was  by  no  means  old  enough  to  adopt  a  fatherly 
view  of  so  pretty  a  subject.  She  must  be  seventeen 
or  eighteen— here  his  companion  murmured  in  her 
sleep,  and  sighed  deeply ;  while  Wilton,  with  a  sudden 
access  of  chivalrous  modesty,  reproaching  himself  for 
presuming  upon  her  unconsciousness  to  scan  so  closely 
the  tender,  childlike  face  that  lay  hushed  before  him, 
withdrew  to  his  original  position.  Here  he  tried  to 
read,  but  the  face  and  figure  of  the  old  recluse  noble- 
man flitted  between  him  and  his  paper,  and  the  bitter- 
sweet of  his  tone  sounded  again  in  his  ears — what 
depths  of  disappointment  and  mortification  that  old 
man  must  have  fathomed  !  Well,  worse  endings  might 
have  come  about  than  the  union  of  Lord  St.  George's 
title  and  property  in  his  (Ralph  Wilton's)  favor  ;  and,  if 
he  ever  inherited  these  good  things,  he  would  certainly 
look  up  his  erring  cousin's  children.  These  medita- 
tions were  varied  by  sundry  glances  at  his  companion, 
vague  conjectures  concerning  her.  How  soft  and 
gentle  her  mouth  looked  !  Yet  there  was  a  good  deal 
of  power  in  the  wide,  smooth  forehead  and  delicately 
I)ut  clearly  marked  dark-brown  eyebrows.  As  Wilton 
looked  he  perceived  her  shiver,  without  waking,  and 
make  a  sleepy  effort  to  fold  her  shawl  closer.  The 
night  was  growing  colder,  and  Wilton,  observing  a 
small  portion  of  the  window  next  his  companion  open, 
rose  to  shut   it.     In  moving   to   accomplish   this,   he 


RALPH  IVILTOX'S   WEIRD.  17 

touched  the  slumberer's  foot.  She  opened  her  eyes 
with  a  sleepy,  startled  look — great,  dark,  lustrous  eyes, 
which  seemed  to  banish  the  childlike  expression  of 
her  face. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Colonel  Wilton  ;  "  but 
it  is  cold,  and  I  thought  you  would  like  the  window 
shut." 

"Oh,  yes,  thank  you  ;  it  is  very,  very  cold."  She 
sat  up  and  rubbed  her  hands  together,  tying  the  blue 
scarf  closer  round  her  head,  and  thrusting  carelessly 
under  it  a  heavy  tress  of  very  dark-brown  hair,  that 
had  become  loosened,  with  utter  disregard  of  appear- 
ances, as  if  only  desirous  of  rest.  "  I  am  so,  so 
weary,"  she  went  on,  "  and  I  dream  instead  of  sleep- 
ing." 

"That  is  probably  because  of  your  uneasy  posi- 
tion," said  Wilton.  "  If  }'ou  will  allow  me  to  arrange 
the  cushions  for  you,  I  think  you  may  rest  better — I 
am  an  old  traveller." 

"You  are  very  good,"  she  returned,  hesitatingly; 
"  how  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  will  show  you  ;  "  and  he  proceeded  to  make 
supports  for  one  of  the  unoccupied  cushions  with  a 
walking-stick  and  umbrella  so  as  to  form  a  couch,  and 
then  rolled  up  his  plaid  loosely  for  an  impromptu  pil- 
low. "  Now,"  he  said,  with  frank  good-nature,  "you 
can  rest  really  ;  and,  if  you  will  wrap  yourself  in  my 


-  18.  RALPH  WILTON'S  IVEIRD. 

cloak,  I  dare  say  you  will  soon  forget  you  are  in  a 
railway-carriage." 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  she  replied.  "  How  good 
of  you  to  take  so  much  trouble— and  your  plaid,  too! 
You  have  left  yourself  nothing  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  need  anything  !  Take  the  cloak, 
and  I  wish  you  good-night." 

He  checked  an  inclination  to  wrap  it  round  her, 
lest  she  might  think  him  too  officious ;  and,  smiling 
at  the  change  in  his  own  sentiments  toward  his  fellow- 
traveller,  withdrew  to  his  original  position. 

"  At  least  you  can  smoke,"  said  she,  as  she  placed 
herself  upon  the  couch  he  had  improvised.  "  I  really 
like  the  perfume  of  a  cigar." 

Thus  encouraged,  Wilton  drew  forth  his  cigar-case 
and  comforted  himself  with  a  weed,  while  he  had  the 
satisfaction  of  observing  the  perfect  stillness  of  the 
rather  shapeless  mass  of  drapery  made  by  his  heavy 
cloak  round  the  slender  form  slumbering  beneath  it. 
So  they  sped  on  into  the  night.  Wilton's  cigar  was 
finished  ;  he  threw  the  end  from  the  window,  Gazin.Qf 
a  moment  at  the  dim,  uncanny  trees  and  hedges  as 
they  flew  past  with  ghastly  rapidity,  and  settling  him- 
self in  his  corner,  he  too  tried  to  sleep  for  a  long  time 
in  vain.  The  past — the  possible  future — the  absolute 
present — his    sudden    interest    in    his     companion, 


C 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


19 


crowded  and  jostled  each  other  in  his  thoughts,  but 
gradually  all  becaine  indistinct,  and  at  last  he  slept. 

Uneasily,  though — visions  of  struggles — of  men 
and  horses  dying — of  a  desperate  necessity  to  carry 
an  order  from  the  general  to  a  remote  division,  and 
the  utter  impossibility  of  getting  his  horse  to  move — 
dreams  like  these  distracted  him  ;  at  last  a  heavy  bat- 
tery on  his  left  opened  fire,  and  he  woke. 

Woke  suddenly,  completely,  with  a  feeling  that 
the  end  of  everything  was  at  hand.  A  noise  of  tear- 
ing and  crashing  filled  his  ears,  mingled  with  shrieks 
and  yells  ;  the  carriage  heaved  violently,  first  to  one 
side,  and  then  to  the  other,  in  which  position  it 
remained. 

As  Wilton  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  fellow-traveller 
started  quickly  to  hers  ;  and,  grasping  his  arm,  ex- 
claimed, with  a  certain  despairing  calm  that  struck  him 
even  in  such  a  moment :  "  Is  it — is  it  death  ? " 

He  did  not  reply;  but,  holding  on  by  the  bar 
which  supports  the  netting  over  the  seats,  he  managed 
to  open  the  door  next  him.  It  was  on  the  upheaved 
side,  and  he  found  a  heap  of  clay  jammed  under  the 
step  of  the  carriage. 

"  Come,"  he  exclaimed,  "  give  me  your  hand  ! — 
lean  on  my  shoulder — there  is  an  open  space  beyond 
here." 

His  fellow-traveller  obeyed,  silently  and  steadily. 


20  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

Instinctively  Wilton  groped  his  way  across  what 
seemed  a  truck  laden  with  earth  and  stones,  and 
assisted  his  companion  down  the  opposite  side  on  to 
the  grass-grown  border  of  the  line,  which  was  open, 
and  only  fenced  by  a  low  bank  and  hedge.  Placing 
her  in  safety,  he  turned  to  look  at  the  scene  of  fear 
and  confusion.  A  few  yards  ahead  lay  the  massive 
fragments  of  the  two  engines  heaped  together,  the 
foremost  carriage  smashed  to  pieces  and  already  blaz- 
ing, having  caught  light  from  the  guard's  lamp,  which 
had  been  overturned.  Two  other  carriages,  more  or 
less  injured,  were,  like  the  one  he  had  just  quitted, 
forced  upon  trucks  laden  with  stone  and  clay.  The 
passengers  were  scrambling  over  them,  the  women 
screaming,  the  men  shouting  directions  and  questions. 

*'  If  you  will  stay  here,  I  will  go  and  see  if  I  can 
be  of  any  use,"  exclaimed  Wilton.  *'  You  are  quite 
safe,  and  I  will  return  as  soon  as  I  can." 

She  murmured  something  in  reply  as  he  went  for- 
ward. 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  21 


CHAPTER  II. 

WILTON  found  an  indescribable  scene  of  con- 
fusion when  he  came  up  to  the  overturned 
engine.  The  male  passengers  and  some  twenty  nav- 
vies, who  had  been  with  the  ballast  train,  were  trying 
frantically  to  separate  the  burning  carriages  from  the 
others  by  forcing  them  back ;  but,  although  the  coup- 
ling irons  were  broken,  the  foremost  carriages  had 
been  so  violently  dashed  against  the  trucks  that  they 
had  become  too  closely  entangled  to  be  stirred,  and 
it  seemed  highly  probable  that  the  whole  train  would 
be  consumed  before  any  means  could  be  devised  for 
extinguishing  the  flames.  Wilton's  quick  eye  took  in 
the  difficulty  in  a  moment,  and  noticed  that  the'blaz- 
ing  van,  having  been  the  first  to  encounter  the  shock, 
had  fallen  on  the  side  away  from  the  ballast  train, 
breaking  the  couplings  and  everything  breakable  as 
it  crashed  over.  The  next  carriage  had  been  forced 
upon  the  second  truck,  and  the  others  more  or  less 
upon  those  nearest  them,  as  they  were  f^irther  from 
the  actual  collision.  The  unhappy  guard  had  been 
dragged  senseless  from  the  debris ;  there  was,  there- 


22  RALPH   WILTON'S  IVEIRD. 

fore,  no  one  to  direct  the  willing  but  fruitless  efforts 
of  the  volunteers.  Seeing  this,  Wilton  sprang  upon 
the  truck  nearest  him,  and  shouted,  in  clear,  ringing 
tones : 

"  Hold,  men  !  you  will  never  move  that  wreck  ! 
Your  only  chance  to  put  out  the  flames  is  to  smother 
it  with  the  damp  clay  here.  Get  your  shovels  and 
picks — some  of  you  jump  up  with  the  picks  and  loosen 
the  stuff;  another  party  be  ready  with  the  shovels  to 
pile  the  clay  over  the  fire." 

At  the  first  sound  of  authoritative  direction  the 
men  sprang  to  obey,  and  Wilton  took  as  supreme 
command  as  if  a  party  of  his  own  pioneers  were  at 
his  orders.  The  men  worked  with  a  will,  as  men 
generally  do  when  intelligently  and  energetically  com- 
manded. It  was  a  wild  and  not  unpicluresque  scene. 
At  first  the  flames  from  the  dry  varnished  wood 
streamed  out  upon  the  breeze,  which,  fortunately,  was 
not  high,  though  it  sometimes  sent  wreaths  of  smoke 
and  fire  against  the  men  who  were  toiling  to  extin- 
guish it,  and  bringing  out  in  strong  relief  the  figure  of 
Wilton,  who  had  climbed  upon  the  side  of  the  car- 
riage nearest  the  burning  fragments,  and,  holding  on 
with  one  hand,  urged  the  working  party  with  quick, 
commanding  gestures.  By  the  time  the  truck  had 
been  half  emptied  the  fire  was  evidently  arrested. 
Every  now  and  then  a  jet  of  flame  shot  up  to  the  sky  j 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  23 

a  few  more  minutes  of  fierce  exertion  and  the  enemy 
was  got  under,  and  Wilton  descended  from  his  post 
of  observation  to  find  a  new  authority  on  the  scene, 
who  was  bustling  about  very  actively.  This  was  the 
master  of  a  small  station  about  half  a  mile  farther  up 
the  line,  scarcely  to  be  seen  from  the  fast  and  express 
trains,  which  never  stopped  there,  but  elevated  by 
the  present  catastrophe  into  importance  and  authority. 
By  his  directions  the  guard  and  stoker,  who  were 
most  injured,  were  removed  to  a  small  town  at  a  little 
distance,  where  medical  aid  could  be  procured.  Hav- 
ing discovered  and  liberated  his  yelping  dog,  Wilton 
sought  what  information  he  could  from  this  official. 

"No,  sir;  there  ain"t  much  damage  done.  The 
stoker  of  the  ballast  train  is  hurt  a  good  deal  ;  but  the 
guard  is  more  stunned  than  hurt.  No  lives  lost, 
thank  God — only  some  bruises  and  a  broken  head. 
You  see,  it's  getting  late  for  night-travelling,  and  there 
wasn't  a  soul  in  the  first  carriage.  How  did  it  hap- 
pen ?  You  see,  the  ballast  train  was  shunted  here  to 
wait  till  yours  was  past;  but  those  pointsmen  are 
overworked,  and  this  here  forgot  to  set  back  the 
points ;  so  you  see,  right  into  the  other  engine," 
etc.,  etc. 

After  mixing  with  the  other  passengers,  and  ascer- 
taining what  they  intended  to  do,  or  if  he  could  be 
of  any  use  to  them,  Wilton  bethought  him  of  his  lonely 


24  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

little  travelling  companion,  and  returned  to  seek  her. 
She  had  advanced  nearer  the  scene  of  action,  and 
climbed  up  the  low  bank  which  here  bordered  the 
line,  the  better  to  see  what  was  going  on. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  must  think  I  was  not  coming 
back,"  said  Wilton,  offering  his  hand  to  help  her  down. 

"  I  saw  you  were  well  occupied,"  she  said,  touch- 
ing it  lightly  as  she  descended. 

"  By  Jove  !  you  are  shivering  with  cold — and  no 
wonder,  without  a  cloak  or  plaid  !  Wait  for  a  moment 
and  I  will  bring  you  mine  from  our  carriage." 

"  Would  you  also  be  so  kind  as  to  bring  my  bonnet 
and  a  small  travelling  bag?  I  should  have  gone  for 
them  myself,  only  I  could  hardly  stand." 

But  Wilton  was  gone,  and  returned  quickly. 
"  There  are  but  three  other  ladies,"  he  said,  assisting 
to  wrap  his  plaid  around  her,  "  and  they  are  going  up 
to  a  small  town  or  village  about  two  miles  off,  to  rest 
at  the  inn  ;  and  when  they  are  refreshed,  intend  post- 
ing on  to  their  destination,  which  is  somewhere  in 
this  districr.  Would  you  like  to  go  with  them,  or 
wait  at  a  little  station  close  to  this,  where  a  fresh  train 
will  be  sent  as  soon  as  they  can  clear  the  line  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  will  go  to  the  station.  I  am  anxious  to 
get  on  as  soon  as  possible." 

"And  so  am  1.  1  shall,  therefore,  remain  there 
also,  and  shall  be  most  happy  to  be  of  any  use  to  you." 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


25 


*'  Thank  you.     Can  I  walk  to  this  station  at  once  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  if  you  will  take  my  arm." 

"  I  feel  I  must  to  steady  myself,"  she  replied.  "  I 
did  not  know  I  was  so  much  frightened  and  shaken. 
I  feel  ashamed." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  for  a  few  yards,  and 
then  Wilton  asked  if  she  was  going  much  farther. 

"  Yes,"  with  a  sigh,  "  a  long  way — over  the  Border 
to  a  place  called  Monkscleugh." 

"  Indeed  !  "  cried  Wilton  ;  "that  is  my  destination 
also." 

She  made  no  reply,  and  they  accomplished  the 
short  distance  in  silence,  save  for  a  few  friendly 
remarks  and  inquiries  from  Wilton.  The  station  was 
almost  deserted  when  they  reached  it ;  but  the  gas- 
light and  a  good  tire  were  very  welcome  ;  and  the 
station  master  soon  returned  with  the  intelligence  that 
they  had  collected  more  men,  who  were  working  hard 
to  clear  the  line,  and,  that,  as  soon  as  it  was  passable, 
a  fresh  train  would  be  sent  on  from  A . 

The  station-master  was  a  short  man — broad  with- 
out being  stout — with  a  peculiarly  weather-beaten 
aspect,  his  mouth  screwed  to  one  side,  and  one  eye 
squeezed  down  to  the  other,  as  if  in  the  habit  of  facing 
the  sun's  glare  without  adequate  shelter.  He  spoke, 
too,  in  a  staccato  style,  as  if  some  intermittent  power 
pumped  up  his  words. 


26  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"  I  dare  say  this  lady  \Yould  be  glad  of  a  cup  of 
tea  or  something,"  said  Wilton,  looking  compassion- 
ately at  the  figure  of  his  companion,  who  had  drawn  a 
chair  to  the  fire,  and  sat  down  wearily,  putting  a  small, 
well-booted  foot  upon  the  fender. 

"  I  have  sent  up  to  the  village  for  refreshments, 
sir  ;  but  I  am  sorry  to  say  1  have  nothing  in  the  place. 
I  generally  go  away  for  my  meals."' 

So  saying,  the  station-master  hurried  off. 

"  I  do  not  feel  to  want  anything  but  sleep,''  said 
the  lady.  "  I  have  not  had  any  for  many  nights,  and 
I  am  scarce  awake  now.  If  I  could  but  close  my 
eyes,  and  rest." 

She  raised  them  as  she  spoke  to  Wilton — such 
large,  black-blue  eyes,  so  heavy  with  fatigue,  that  his 
compassion  for  her  evident  exhaustion  was  naturally 
increased  by  the  admiration  they  excited. 

''  You  really  ought  to  take  something,  if  we  could 
get  it,"  he  said.  "  Such  a  shock  must  have  been  too 
much  for  you,  tf^ough  you  showed  remarkable  pluck." 

"Yet  I  was  dreadfully  frightened,"  she  replied, 
clasping  her  hands  over  one  knee,  and  gazing  dreamily 
into  the  fire.  "I  do  not  fear  death  so  much  as  being 
hurt  and  helpless.'' 

"Well,"  said  Wilton,  cheerfully,  "  we  must  find  a 
resting-place  for  you.  I'liere  ought  to  be  a  lady's 
waiting-room  even  here."     He  rose  and  looked  about 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


27 


as  he  spoke.  "  And  so  there  is  " — he  opened  a  door 
on  the  right  of  the  fireplace — "  a  very  desobte-Iooking 
chamber.  Still  there  is  an  uneasy-looking  stuffed 
bench,  and  perhaps,  with  my  cloak  and  plaid,  you 
might  manage  to  get  an  hour's  sleep  while  we  are 
waiting." 

"  How  good  of  you  to  think  of  all  this  !  "  she  ex- 
claimed, looking  at  him  more  attentively  than  she  had 
yet  done.  "  Cut  it  is  dark — and  see  !  the  lock  is 
broken.  I  do  not  think  I  should  like  to  sleep  with 
an  open  door.'' 

"  Let  me  light  the  gas,"  said  Wilton,  turning  the 
stiff  tap  and  striking  one  of  his  fusees.  "  Now  the 
only  objection  is  the  broken  lock.  I  will  mount  guard 
outside,  and,  trust  me,  no  one  shall  intrude  upon  you. 
What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Many,  many  thanks.  I  will  gladly  lie  down  and 
try  to  sleep.     Are  yjn  not  weary  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least.  I  would  advise  your  trying  to 
compose  yourself  at  once  ;  the  others  will  be  here 
soon,  and  will  probably  talk  and  make  a  row.  By- 
the-way,"  interrupting  himself,  "  would  you  like  to 
telegraph  to  your  friends  that  you  are  all  right  1  I  am 
going  to  do  so  myself." 

"  Telegraph  to  my  friends  !  "  she  replied,  stopping 
and  looking  full  at  him,  her  large,  dark,  dewy  eyes 
lighting  up  as  a  half-sad,  half  scornful  smile  dimpled 


28  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

her  cheek.     "'It  is  not  at  all  necessary ;  they  will  not 
distress  themselves." 

She  bent  her  head  as  Wilton  held  the  door  for  her 
to  pass  through.  Closing  it  after  her,  he  returned  to 
his  seat  by  the  fire,  wondering  at  himself;  for,  though 
far  too  manly  a  man  to  adopt  a  tone  of  selfish  indiffer- 
ence toward  others,  though  he  would  have  sliown 
kindly  consideration  to  a  plain  or  an  elderly  woman 
in  such  circumstances,  he  was  conscious  of  an  extraor- 
dinary degree  of  interest  and  admiration  for  his  quiet, 
undemonstrative  fellow-traveller.  She  was  so  gentle, 
yet  so  indifferent ;  so  simple  and  so  self-possessed  ; 
evidently  grateful  to  him  for  his  attentions,  and  yet 
utterly  regardless  of  him  as  a  "  good-looking  fellow," 
or  as  anything  save  a  civil  travelling-companion. 
There  was  something  marvellously  attractive  in  the 
almost  infantine  sweetness  of  her  mouth  and  delicate 
chin,  and  the  contrast  of  her  earnest,  expressive  eyes. 

"Who  can  she  be?"  asked  Wilton  of  himself; 
"  though  quite  unconventional,  there  is  a  high  tone 
about  her,  poor  little  thing  !  It  is  as  well  she  fell  in 
with  such  a  steady  fellow  as  myself  I  must  see  her 
safe  to  the  end  of  her  journey^  and  find  out  all  about 
her  before  we  part." 

His  reflections  were  interrupted  by  an  influx  of 
some  of  the  passengers,  who  now  began  to  collect, 
having  impeded  the  efforts  of  the  railway  officials  as 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


29 


much  as  possible  b}'  their  attempts  to  afford  assist- 
ance ;  they  were  all  exceedingly  talkative  and  hungry, 
not  to  say  hilarious,  from  the  reaction  of  their  escape. 
The  refreshments  which  had  been  sent  for  had  now 
arrived,  and  the  little  station  looked  quite  crowded. 
In  the  midst  of  the  buzz  of  voices,  while  all  except 
AVilton  were  gathered  round  the  table  discussing  the 
viands  placed  thereon,  he  observed  the  door  of  the 
ladies'  room  open  gently  and  his  proi  g-  appear,  his 
cloak  over  one  shoulder,  and  trailing  behind.  Wilton 
immediately  went  toward  her. 

"  I  cannot  sleep,"  she  said  ;  '"  I  dozed  a  little  just 
at  first,  but  now  I  am  quite  awake  and  restless." 

"  That's  bad,"  returned  Wilton.  "  Will  vou  come 
in  here  and  sit  by  the  fire  ? '' 

"  Oh  no  !  "  shrinking  back,  "not  among  all  those 
people." 

"  Well,  it  would  not  be  ver}'  pleasant ;  but  shall 
you  not  be  very  cold  ? " 

"  Not  if  you  will  still  allow  me  to  have  your  cloak." 

"Certainly;  and  I  hope  we  shall  not  be  kept 
much  longer.  Could  we  not  get  you  a  fire  here  ?  "  and 
he  walked  in  unceremoniously. 

"  I  do  not  think  even  you  could  manage  that,"  she 
returned,  with  a  quiet  smile,  as  she  placed  herself  at 
a  table  under  the  gaslight,  and  opened  a  large  note- 
book, as  if  about  to  make  some  entries. 


30  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"Not  a  strong-minded  female  taking  notes,  I 
hope,"  thought  Wilton.  *'  She  is  far  too  pretty  for 
that." 

"  No,"  said  he,  aloud,  as  he  observed  there  was 
no  fireplace.  "  With  all  the  will  imaginable,  I  cannot 
manage  a  fire  ;  but  can  I  do  nothing  more  .?  I  must 
insist  on  your  taking  some  wine  or  tea.  They  are  all 
devouring  out  there  ;  and  I  have  had  some  very  toler- 
able brandy-and-water  myself,"  and  Wilton  beckoned 
a  waiter  to  bring  some  refreshment. 

"  I  tell  you  wb.at  you  could  do  for  me,"  said  the 
young  lady,  suddenly  looking  up  more  brightly  than 
she  had  yet  done ;  "  make  the  station-master  come  in 
here  and  talk — ask  him  questions.  Oh,  you  know 
what  I  mean  !  "  she  went  on,  with  a  sort  of  graceful 
petulance  as  Wilton  looked  at  her  in  no  small  sur- 
prise, "  anything  to  make  him  talk.  There,  I  think  I 
hear  him  in  the  next  room  ;  please  to  watch  for  him 
and  bring  him  here.  I  will  begin,  you  can  follow  me; 
when  I  say  '  thank  you,'  send  him  away — there,  please 
to  catch  him." 

Wilton,  greatly  wondering  that  the  first  signs  of 
animation  in  his  interesting  companion  should  be 
aroused  by  so  rugged  and  commonplace  a  subject, 
hastened  to  obey,  and  soon  returned  with  the  func- 
tionary. 

''  Oh  ! "  said  the  lady,  bending  her  head  with  such 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  31 

a  proud  yet  gracious  air  that  the  man  involuntarily 
removed  his  hat.  "  Pray  tell  me,  is  there  really  no 
serious  injury?  1  should  be  more  satisfied  were  I 
assured  by  you." 

""  Well,  mum,  I  am  happy  to  say  there  is  no  one 
much  hurt  to  speak  of,"  etc.,  etc. 

"  Is  it  long  since  you  have  had  an  accident  be- 
fore ? "  asked  Wilton,  not  very  well  knowing  how  to 
proceed  in  compliance  with  a  little  private  imperative 
nod  from  the  fair  inqu'sitor. 

The  question  was  opportune,  for  it  launched  the 
station-master  upon  quite  a  flood  of  memories  into 
which  he  rushed  and  talked  for  good  ten  minutes 
without  intermission.  How  long  he  would  have  con- 
tinued it  is  impossible  to  say,  but  one  of  the  porters 
came  to  call  him,  as  there  was  a  telegraph  from  . 

Wilton  followed  to  hear  the  news,  and  returned, 
after  a  short  absence,  with  the  intelligence  that  the 
expected  train  would  not  arrive  for  another  hour. 

"That  is  long,"  replied  the  young  lady,  scarce  lift- 
ing her  head  ;  then,  as  Wilton,  a  little  mortified  by  her 
tone,  turned  to  leave  the  room,  she  exclaimed,  still 
looking  down,  "  Stay  one  moment,  if  not  inconvenient." 

"  Certainly,"  and  Wilton  stood  still  for  another 
minute  or  two. 

"  There,"  she  said,  holding  out  the  book,  "  is  that 
like  him?" 


32  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

Wilton  took  it  and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise. On  the  page  before  him  was  a  bold,  rapid, 
admirable  sketch  of  the  station-master ;  all  the  char- 
acteristic lines  and  puckers  were  there,  but  slightly 
idealized. 

"■  This  is  first-rate  !     You  are  quite  an'artist." 

"  I  wish  I  was  !  Let  me  touch  it  a  little  more. 
What  a  capital  face  it  is — so  rugged,  so  humorous — 
yet  so  English  ;  not  the  least  bit  picturesque.  I  shall 
work  this  into  something  some  day." 

"  Then  I  am  right  in  supposing  you  an  artist  ? 
May  I  look  again  ? "  said  Wilton,  sitting  down 
beside  her. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  you  may  look  at  my  scratchings.  This 
is  my  note-book.  I  like  to  draw  everything — but, 
you  see,  most  imperfectly." 

"  I  do  not,  indeed.  I  know  very  little  of  art, 
though  I  can  sketch  roughly — merely  professional 
work — but  you  seem  to  me  to  have  both  genius 
and  skill." 

"  Some  taste,  scarce  any  skill." 

There  was  something  quite  genuine  in  her  tone — 
not  the  least  tinge  of  mock-modesty — as  she  turned 
over  the  pages,  and  touched  them  here  and  there, 
while  her  manner  was  singularly  devoid  of  coquetry. 
Wilton  might  have  been  her  grandfather  for  all  of 
embarrassment  or  excitement  his  attentions  caused. 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  33 

"And  you  can  draw;  perhaps  you  know  these 
trees  ;  they  are  not  far  from  Monkscleugh." 

She  showed  him  a  group  of  beeches  most  delicately 
yet  clearly  drawn. 

''  I  do  not  know  the  neighborhood.  I  am  going 
there  for  the  first  time.  May  I  ask  if  you  reside 
there  ? " 

"  Yes,  at  present.  Oh,  you  will  find  a  great  deal 
to  sketch  all  about — especially  by  the  river — and  there 
is  beauty,  too,  in  the  gray  skies  and  rich  brown  moors ; 
but  how  unlike  the  beauty  of  the  sunny  south  ! " 

"  It  is  not  necessary  to  ask  which  you  like  ;  your 
voice  tells  that,"  said  Wilton. 

"  And  are  you  not  fond  of  drawing  ?  "  she  resumed, 
as  if  the  subject  had  an  irresistible  attraction. 

"  You  would  not  look  at  such  school-boy  produc- 
tions as  mine,"  returned  Wilton,  smiling.  "  As  I  said 
before,  they  are  mere  rough  professional  drawings." 

"  Professional !     Wliat  is  your  profession  ? " 

This  rather  leading  question  was  put  with  the 
most  straightforward  simplicity. 

"I  am  a  soldier." 

"  A  soldier ! " — looking  very  earnestly  at  him — 
"  what  a  pity  ! " 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Wilton,  surprised,  and  a  little 
nettled.     "  Soldiers  are  necessary  evils." 

"  But  what  evils  !  what  symbols  of  deeper  evils 


34 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


than  themselves  !  I  do  not  mean  to  say^"  interrupting 
herself  with  a  sudden  consciousness  that  her  words 
were  rude,  while  a  delicate  tinge  of  color  came  and 
went  in  her  cheek,  "  that  you  are  bad  or  wicked  ;  but 
it  is  so  sad  to  think  that  such  things,  or  people  rather, 
should  be  necessary  still." 

"  No  doubt  it  would  be  better  for  the  world  to  be 
in  an  Arcadian  or  paradisiacal  condition  ;  but,  as  it 
is,  I  am  afraid  it  will  be  a  long  time  before  we  can 
dispense  with  fighting  or  fighting-men.  However,  you 
are  right — war  is  a  horrible  thing,  and  I  hope  we  shall 
have  no  more  for  a  long  time." 

"  Alas  !  how  dare  we  hope  that,  so  long  as  it  is  in 
the  power  of  three  or  four  men  to  plunge  three  or 
four  nations  into  such  horrors  1 " 

"  Ah,  I  see  I  have  encountered  a  dangerous 
democrat,"  said  Wilton,  laughing ;  and,  vaguely 
pleased  to  see  her  drawn  out  of  her  cool  composure, 
he  watched  the  varying  color  in  her  cheek  while  she 
was  turning  over  the  leaves  of  her  sketch-book,  seem- 
ing to  seek  for  something.  "  Pardon  me,"  said  Wilton, 
after  waiting  for  a  reply,  and  determined  to  speak  again^ 
'•  but  I  imagine  you  are  not  English." 

"  I  scarcely  know — yes,  I  believe  I  am."     She  spoke 
in  her  former  quiet  tone  again. 

"In  England  all  young  ladies  are  conservative, at 
least  all  I  have  evei  known,"  continued  Wilton. 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  35 

"  Conservative ! — I  have  read  that  word  often  in 
the  journals.  Is  it  legitimacy,  Church  and  state,  and 
all  that?" 

"  Exactly." 

"  Well,  the  young  ladies  I  know — and  they  are  but 
few — are  very  charming,  very  accomplished  ;  but  they 
know  nothing,  absolutely  nothing.     Is  it  not  strange  ?  " 

There  was  not  the  slightest  approach  to  cynicism 
in  her  tone,  but  she  looked  at  Wilton  as  if  fully  expect- 
ing him  to  share  her  wonder. 

"  Is  this  the  character  of  the  young  ladies  of  the 
unknown  land  into  which  I  am  about  to  plunge  ?  I 
fancied  Scotchwomen  were  educated  within  an  inch 
of  their  lives." 

"  I  know  English  girls  best.  Some  are  very 
learned;  have  been  taught  quantities;  they  can  tell 
the  very  year  when  printing  was  tried,  and  when 
Queen  Elizabeth  first  wore  silk  stockings,  and  when 
every  great  pope  was  born ;  and  they  read  French  and 
German  ;  and  oh,  I  cannot  tell  all  they  can  do  and 
say.  And  yet — yet,  they  know  nothing — they  care 
for  nothing — they  lead  such  strange  lives." 

"  I  suppose  the  lives  of  all  girls  are  much  alike," 
observed  Wilton,  more  and  more  curious  to  find  out 
some  leading  acts  concerning  his  rather  original  com- 
panion. "But,  as  we  are  both  bound  for  the  same 
place,  perhaps  I  may  have  some  opportunity  of  com- 


36  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

municating  my  observations  on  the  intellectual  status 
of  the  Monkscleugh  young  ladies  ? " 

'^  There  is  very  little  probability  of  such  an  event," 
said  she,  with  an  amused  smile. 

'^  Then  you  do  not  reside  at  Monkscleugh  ?  " 

"  Within  three  miles  of  it." 

"  I  am  going  down  to  a  shooting-lodge  called 
Glenraven,"  hoping  she  would  respond  by  naming  her 
own  abode. 

"  Indeed!  I  know  it ;  there  are  some  lovely  bits 
about  there." 

"  We  shall  be  neighbors,  then  ?  " 

"Yes,  in  a  certain  sense.  Here,"  she  continued, 
turning  over  a  fresh  page  of  her  book,  "  this  is  the 
outline  of  a  very  lovely  brae  and  burn  close  to  your 
abode." 

It  was  only  a  bit  of  broken  bank  ;  a  stream,  dotted 
with  stones,  lay  below,  with  some  mountain  ash  trees 
spreading  their  feathery  foliage  against  the  sky ;  but 
there  were  wonderful  grace  and  beauty  in  the  sketch. 
"  This  gives  you  a  very  faint  idea  of  the  reality,"  she 
resumed,  in  a  low,  soft  tone,  as  if  inwardly  contem- 
plating it.  "The  water  is  clear  brown  ;  it  foams  and 
chafes  round  these  large  black  stones,  and  all  sorts 
of  delicious  mosses  and  leaves  lurk  below  the  edge ; 
and  then  ferns  wave  about  the  rocks  on  the  brae,  and 
there  are  gleams  of  purple  heather  and  tufts  of  green, 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


37 


green  grass,  and  behind  here  a  great,  wild,  free  hill- 
side.    Oh,  it  is  so  quiet  and  dreamy  there — delicious  !" 

"  And  this  delightful  brae  is  near  the  lodge  ? " 
said  Wilton,  when  she  paused,  after  listening  an 
instant  in  hopes  she  would  speak  on,  there  was  such 
caressing  sweetness  in  her  voice." 

"  No,  not  very  near ;  almost  a  mile  away,  I  think." 
She  evidently  knew  the  place  well. 

"  I  hope  you  will  continue  to  transfer  the  beauties 
of  Glenraven  after  I  become  a  dweller  there." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  whenever  I  have  time ;  to  draw  is  my 
greatest  pleasure." 

With  all  her  frankness,  he  was  not  an  inch  nearer 
the  discovery  of  her  actual  abode. 

"  I  suppose  you  do  not  live  far  from  the  scene  of 
your  sketch  ? " 

"Not  far  :  Brosedale  is  quite  a  mile  and  a  half  on 
this  side,"  touching  the  page  with  her  pencil  ;  "  and 
the. pathway  to  Monkscleugh  goes  over  the  brae." 

"Indeed!  I  imagine  I  have  heard  the  name  of 
Brosedale  before." 

"  Very  likely ;  it  is,  I  believe,  the  largest  gentle- 
man's seat  in  the  neighborhood." 

"  Yes,  yes ;  I  remember  now :  it  belongs  to  Sir 
Peter  Fergusson." 

"  Exactly." 

"  She  cannot  be  his  daughter,"  thought  Wilton ; 


38  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"  I  suppose  she  must  be  the  governess. — I  understand 
he  is  quite  the  grand  seigneur  of  Monkscleugh,"  he 
said  aloud. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  so.  He  is  a  good  little  man — 
at  least,  whenever  I  see  him  he  is  very  kind."  After 
some  further,  but  intermittent  conversation,  there  was 
a  sort  of  movement  in  the  next  room,  and  Wilton's 
companion  begged  him  to  go  and  see  what  was  the 
matter. 

The  matter  was  the  arrival  of  the  promised  engine 
and  train ;  so  Wilton's  conversation  and  inquiries 
were  put  an  end  to  for  the  present. 

To  his  infinite  disgust,  when  they  resumed  their 
places,  a  fat  elderly  man,  a  commercial  traveller  froiti 
Glasgow,  intruded  upon  their  t'te-a-t^te^  and  absorbed 
all  the  talk  to  himself.  He  was  great  in  railway 
experiences,  accidents  included,  and  addressed  a 
steady,  unceasing  flow  of  talk  to  Wilton,  who  burned 
to  eject  him  summarily  from  the  window. 

The  3'oung  lady  had  sunk  to  sleep  at  last,  care- 
fully wrapped  in  Wilton's  cloak,  and  the  bagman, 
having  exhausted  either  his  powers  or  his  subject, 
composed  himself  to  slumber.  But  Wilton  could  not 
rest  for  a  long  time,  and  he  seemed  hardly  to  have 
lost  consciousness  before  they  stopped  at  Carlisle. 
Here  the  commercial  traveller  alighted,  and  Wilton's 
puzzling  companion  woke  up. 


RALPH  WILTON'S   WEIRD. 


39 


"  We  shall  be  at  Monkscleugh  in  three-quarters 
of  an  hour,"  said  Wilton ;  "  can  I  be  of  any  further 
use  to  you  if  your  friends  are  not  there  to  meet  you, 
as  may  be  the  case  ?  " 

"  There  will  be  no  friends  to  meet  me,"  she  re- 
plied ;  "  but  I  need  trouble  you  no  more :  I  go  to  the 
house  of  one  of  the  Brosedale  employes,  who  will 
send  me  on." 

"  After  a  hair-breadth  'scape,  such  as  ours,"  said 
Wilton,  amused  at  his  own  unwonted  bashfulness  and 
difficulty  in  putting  the  question,  "  may  I  ask  the 
name  of  my  comrade  in  danger  ?  " 

"  My  name  ?  "  with  some  surprise.  "  Oh,  Ella — 
Ella  Rivers." 

"  And  mine  ;  do  you  not  care  to  inquire  ?  "  said 
Wilton,  bending  forward  to  look  into  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  slowly,  with  a  slight  sigh  ;  "what 
is  your  name?  " 

"Wilton." 

"  Have  you  no  other.? — there  is  always  more  char- 
acter in  a  Christian  name." 

"  Mine  is  Ralph." 

"Ralph — Ralph — I  do  not  seem  to  understand  it. 
Are  you  noble  ?  " 

"  No  ;  simply  Colonel  Wilton." 

"  Ah !  a  colonel  is  higher  than  a  captain,  and 
lower  than  a  general  t " 


40  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"Just  SO." 

She  relapsed  into  silence,  scarcely  responding  to 
Wilton's  endeavor  to  make  her  talk  and  turn  her  eyes 
upon  him.  He  was  surprised  to  find  himself  counting 
the  minutes  that  remained  before  he  should  be  com- 
pelled to  lose  sight  of  his  curiously  fascinating  com- 
panion. The  parting  moment  came  all  too  quickly, 
and  Wilton  was  obliged  to  say  "Good-by." 

"  I  hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  again," 
he  said,  politely. 

"  There  is  nothing  so  unlikely,"  she  returned,  with 
a  slight  blush;  "but,"  holding  out  her  hand,  "your 
kindness  will  always  be  a  pleasant  recollection." 

She  bowed  and  turned  away  so  decidedly  that 
Wilton  felt  he  must  not  follow. 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  41 


CHAPTER  III. 

MAJOR  MONCRIEF  was  as  good  as  his  word, 
and  joined  his  friend  before  the  stipulated  ten 
days  had  expired.  Nor  had  time  hung  heavily  on 
Wilton's  hands.  He  was  up  early,  and  turned  out 
every  day  to  tramp  through  the  heather,  or  among 
the  wooded  valleys  of  the  picturesque  country  sur- 
rounding the  lodge.  He  was  an  active  pedestrian 
and  a  good  shot ;  moreover,  he  went  thoroughly  into 
the  pursuit  or  amusement  that  engaged  him.  The 
game-keeper  pronounced  him  a  real  sportsman,  but 
thought  it  rather  odd  that,  whatever  line  of  country 
they  had  beaten,  or  were  going  to  beat,  Colonel  Wilton 
generally  contrived  to  pass  across  the  brae,  or  the 
path  leading  from  Brosedale  to  Monkscleugh.  The 
evening  was  generally  spent  in  arranging  and  correct- 
ins:  his  Crimean  and  Indian  diaries,  so,  with  the  help 
of  a  couple  of  horses,  which  arrived  under  the  care  of 
his  soldier  servant,  he  had  no  lack  of  amusement  and 
occupation.  Nevertheless,  he  welcomed  Moncrief 
very  warmly. 

"  You  are  a  first-rate  fellow  for  joining  me  so  soon. 


42 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD 


It  certainly  is  not  good  for  man  to  live  alone.  These 
are  capital  quarters — lots  of  game,  beautiful  country, 
hospitable  neighbors.  Look  here !  I  found  these 
when  I  came  in  yesterday." 

So  spoke  Wilton,  handing  a  card  and  a  note  to  his 
friend  as  they  drew  near  the  fire  after  dinner. 

"  Hum  ! — ah! — Sir  Peter,  or  rather  Lady  Fergusson 
has  lost  no  time,"  returned  the  major,  laying  down  the 
card,  which  was  inscribed  "  Sir  Peter  J.  Fergusson, 
Brosedale,"  and,  opening  the  note,  which  bore  a  crest 
and  monogram  in  lilac  and  gold,  "her  ladyship  is 
anxious  we  should  partake  of  the  hospitality  of  Brose- 
dale on  Thursday  next,  ^  sa?is  ccWmonie.'  I  am  to 
bring  my  friend  Colonel  Wilton." 

"  Who  are  these  people  ?  "  asked  Wilton,  as  he 
peeled  a  walnut. 

"  Oh,  Sir  Peter  is  a  man  who  made  a  big  fortune 
in  China  ;  a  very  decent  little  fellow.  He  married  an 
Honorable  widow  with  a  string  of  daughters,  who 
manages  a  happy  amalgamation  of  her  old  and  her 
new  loves  by  styling  herself  the  Honorable  Lady  Fer- 
gusson. Sir  Peter  bought  a  large  estate  here  for  a 
song  when  the  Grits  of  Brosedale  smashed  up,  I  met 
the  baronet  in  London  at  General  Maclellan's,  and 
my  lady  was  monstrously  civil ;  hoped  to  see  me  when 
I  was  in  their  neighborhood,  and  all  that ;  but,  of 
course,   Wilton,   you    will    not    go.-'      We    did    not 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  43 

come  down  here  for  polite  society — it  would  be  a 
bore." 

Wilton  did  not  answer  immediately.  "  I  do  not 
know,"  he  said,  at  last.  "It  would  not  do  to  give 
such  near  neighbors  the  cold  shoulder.  We  might  be 
glad  of  them  if  we  tire  of  each  other.  Suppose  we  go 
this  time,  and  see  what  sort  of  neighbors  we  have  ? " 

Moncrief  looked  at  his  friend  with  some  surprise. 
"  As  you  like,"  he  said.  "  I  should  have  thought  it 
anything  but  a  temptation  to  you.  " 

"  My  dear  fellow,  the  weather  and  the  sport  and 
the  scenery  have  made  me  so  confoundedly  amiable 
that  I  am  indisposed  to  say  '  No '  to  any  one." 

"Very  well,  I  will  write  and  accept;  but  if  you 
think  I  am  going  to  dine  with  every  resident  who 
chooses  to  enliven  his  dulness  by  entertaining  two 
such  choice  spirits  as  ourselves,  you  are  very  much 
mistaken,  my  lad.  I  suppose  you  are  anxious  to  pro- 
secute your  search  for  a  wife,  in  obedience  to  that 
crotchety  old  peer." 

"Not  I,"  returned  Wilton,  laughing;  "and,  if  I 
were,  I  do  not  think  it  very  likely  I  should  find  the 
desired  article  among  the  Honorable  Lady  Fergusson's 
daughters." 

"  I  believe  Fergusson  was  married  before/'  said 
the  major,  "  in  his  earlier,  humbler  days,  when  he  lit- 
tle thought  he  would  reign  in  the  stead  of  old  Jammie 


44  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

Grits  at  Brosedale."  Whereupon  the  major  branched 
off  into  some  local  anecdotes,  which  he  told  with  much 
dry  humor.  Wilton  listened  and  laughed,  but  did  not 
forget  to  put  him  in  mind  of  the  necessary  reply  to 
Lady  Fergusson's  invitation. 

The  major  was  by  no  means  well  pleased  at  being 
obliged  to  dress  after  a  severe  day's  work,  for  which 
he  was  not  as  yet  in  training ;  moreover,  he  was  full 
fifteen  years  older  than  his  friend,  and  at  no  period 
of  his  life  possessed  the  fire,  the  eager  energy  which 
Wilton  carried  with  him  into  every  pursuit,  even  into 
every  whim.  So  he  grumbled  through  the  purgatorial 
operation,  and  marvelled  gloomily  at  Wilton's  unusual 
readiness  to  rush  into  the  inanities  of  a  country  dinner. 

As  to  Wilton,  he  felt  quite  angry  with  himself  for 
the  curious  elation  with  which  he  mounted  the  dog- 
cart that  was  to  convey  them  to  Brosedale.  He  did 
not  think  there  was  so  much  boyish  folly  left  in  him  ; 
but,  occujDy  himself  as  he  might,  he  could  not  banish 
the  haunting  eyes  of  Ella  Rivers.  He  could  not  for- 
get the  unconscious  dignity  of  her  question,  "  Is  it 
death  ?  "  The  full  knowledge  of  danger,  and  yet  no 
wild  terror !  There  was  a  fascination  about  that 
insignificant  stranger  which,  absurd  and  unreasonable 
though  it  was,  he  could  not  shake  off  This  effect 
was  heightened  by  the  peculiar,  sad  indifference  of 
her  manner.     It  was  odd  that  he  had  never  met  her 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  45 

in  any  of  his  varied  and  extensive  excursions.  The 
weather  had  been  beautiful,  too — most  favorable  for 
sketching,  but  she  had  never  appeared.  If  he  could 
see  her  again,  and  disperse  the  species  of  mystery 
which  formed  part  of  her  charm,  by  ascertaining  who 
and  what  she  was,  he  felt  as  if  he  could  better  break 
the  spell.  But  all  this  was  more  vaguely  felt  than 
actually  thought  and  acknowledged.  Wilton  would 
have  laughed  at  any  one  who  told  him  that  his 
thoughts  were  all  more  or  less  pervaded  by  the  quiet 
little  girl  who  had  shown  such  an  unusual  dislike  to 
soldiers. 

The  friends  reached  Brosedale  just  as  Sir  Peter 
hoped  they  would  not  be  late.  The  house — which 
was  an  old  one,  so  largely  added  to,  altered,  and  im- 
proved, that  scarcely  any  of  the  original  could  be 
traced — was  very  like  all  rich  men's  houses  where  the 
women  have  no  distinctive  taste — handsome,  ornate, 
and  commonplace.  Lady  Fergusson  was  a  fine,  well- 
preserved  woman,  richly  dressed  in  silk  and  lace. 
She  received  Major  Moncrief  and  .his  friend  with 
much  cordiality,  and  presented  them  to  her  daughters. 
Miss  Helen  and  Miss  Gertrude  Saville,  and  also  to  a 
nephew  and  niece  who  were  staying  in  the  house. 

"  My  eldest  daughter,  who  was  with  me  when  we 
had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  in  town,  is  staying 
with  her  aunt.  Lady  Ashleigh,  in  Wiltshire,"  said  the 


46  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

hostess  to  Moncrief.  "  She  is  quite  enthusiastic 
about  archaeology,  and  Ashleigh  is  in  itself  a  treasure 
of  antiquity." 

Miss  Helen  Saville  was  a  grand,  tall  brunette,with 
rich  red  lips  and  cheeks,  luxuriantif  somewhat  coarse 
black  hair,  and  large,  round  black  eyes,  that  looked 
every  one  and  everything  full  in  the  face.  Her  sister 
was  smaller,  less  dark,  and  in  every  way  a  faint  copy 
of  the  great  original.  The  niece  was  a  plain  girl, 
with  good  points,  dressed  effectively  ;  and  the  nephew 
a  young  lieutenant  in  some  hussar  regiment,  who 
considered  himself  bound  to  fraternize  with  Wilton. 
The  latter  was  told  off  to  take  in  Miss  Saville  by  Sir 
Peter,  a  small  man,  whose  close-clipped  white  whiskers 
looked  like  mutton-chop  patterns  thickly  floured. 
He  had  a  quiet,  not  to  say  depressed  air,  and  a 
generally  dry-salted  aspect,  which  made  Wilton  won- 
der, as  he  stood  talking  with  him  before  the  fire,  at 
the  stuff  out  of  which  the  conquerors  of  fortune  are 
sometimes  made. 

"  What  a  beautiful  country  this  is  ! "  said  Wilton 
to  his  neighbor,  as  his  soup-plate  was  removed,  and 
Ganymede,  in  well-fitting  broadcloth,  filled  his  glass. 

"  Strangers  admire  it,  but  it  is  by  no  means  a 
good  neighborhood." 

"  Indeed  !  I  suppose,  then,  you  are  driven  in  upon 
your  own  resources." 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


47 


"  Such  as  they  are,"  with  a  smile  displaying  white 
but  not  regular  teeth. 

"  No  doubt  they  are  numerous.  Let  me  see  ;  what 
are  a  young  lady's  resources — crochet,  croquet,  and 
curates,  healing  the  sick  and  feeding  the  hungry  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  do  none  of  those  things.  The  crochet, 
croquet,  and  curates,  are  my  sister's  amusements, 
and  I  dislike  both  the  sick  and  the  hungry,  although 
I  have  no  objection  to  subscribe  for  them." 

"  Ah  !  you  are  terribly  destitute  ;  and  you  do  not 
ride,  or  I  should  have  met  you." 

"  Yes,  I  am  very  fond  of  riding ;  but  we  have 
scarcely  returned  a  week,  and  I  have  had  a  bad  cold." 

"  Perhaps  you  draw?  "  asked  Wilton, approaching 
his  object  from  afar. 

"No  ;  I  have  always  preferred  music.  None  of  us 
care  for  drawing,  except  my  youngest  sister." 

"Indeed!"  (looking  across  the  table),  "that 
is  a  pleasant  variety  from  the  crochet,  croquet,  and 
curates." 

"  No  ;  not  Gertrude — I  mean  Isabel.  She  is  still 
in  the  school-room." 

''  Ah !  And  I  suppose  sketches  with  her  gover- 
ness ? " 

"Yes." 

"  As  I  imagined,"  thought  Wilton,  "  my  pretty 
companion  is  the  governess.     Perhaps  she  will  be  in 


48  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

the  drawing-room  when  we  go  there.  If  so,  I  must  lay 
the  train  for  some  future  meeting." 

"  Pray,  Colonel  Wilton,  are  you  any  relation  to  a 
Mr.  St.  George  Wilton  we  met  at  Baden  last  summer? 
He  was,  or  is,  attache  somewhere." 

"  He  has  the  honor  of  being  my  first  cousin  once 
removed,  or  my  third  cousin  twice  removed — some 
relation,  at  all  events.  I  am  not  at  all  well  up  in  the 
ramifications  of  the  family." 

"Well,  he  is  a  very  agreeable  person,  I  assure  you, 
quite  a  favorite  with  every  one,  and  speaks  all  sorts  of 
languages.  There  was  a  Russian  princess  at  Baden, 
quite  wild  about  him." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  These  fair  barbarians  are  im- 
pressionable, however.  I  have  met  the  man  you 
mention  years  ago.  We  were  at  that  happy  period 
when  one  can  relieve  the  overburdened  heart  by  a 
stand-up  fight,  and  I  have  a  delightful  recollection  of 
thrashing  him." 

Miss  Saville  laughed,  and  then  said,  "  I  hope  you 
will  be  better  friends  when  you  meet  again.  I  believe 
he  is  coming  here  next  week." 

"Oh,  I  promise  to  keep  the  peace — unless,  in- 
deed, I  see  him  greatly  preferred  before  me,"  re- 
turned Wilton,  with  a  rather  audacious  look,  which 
by  no  means  displeased  Miss  Saville,  who  was  of  the 
order  of  young  ladies  that  prefer  a  bold  wooer. 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  ^g 

While  the  talk  flowed  glibly  at  Sir  Peter's  end  of 
the  table,  Lady  Fergusson  was  delicately  cross-exam- 
ining Moncrief  as  to  the  social  standing  of  his  friend. 

"  Try  a  little  melon,  Major  Moncrief.  Pray  help 
yourself.  That  port  is,  I  believe,  something  remark- 
able. And  you  were  saying  Colonel  Wilton  is  related 
to  that  curious  old  Lord  St.  George.  We  met  a 
cousin  of  his — his  heir,  in  fact — abroad  last  year,  a 
very  charming  young  man." 

"  Not  his  heir,  Lady  Fergusson,  for  my  friend 
Ralph  is  the  heir.     I  am  quite  sure  of  that." 

"Indeed!"  returned  Lady  Fergusson,  blandly. 
"  I  dare  say  you  are  right ; "  and  her  countenance 
assumed  a  softer  expression  while  she  continued  to 
bestow  most  flattering  attentions  upon  the  rather 
obtuse  major. 

The  after-dinner  separation  seemed  very  long  to 
Wilton,  although  he  was  a  good  deal  interested  by  his 
host's  observations  upon  Eastern  matters  ;  for  Sir 
Peter  was  a  shrewd,  intelligent  man  ;  but  at  last  they 
joined  the  ladies,  and  found  their  numbers  aug- 
mented by  a  little  girl  of  twelve  or  thirteen,  and  a 
rigid  lady  in  gray  silk,  who  was  playing  a  duet  with 
Miss  Gertrude  Saville.  Wilton  betook  himself,  coffee- 
cup  in  hand,  to  Miss  Saville,  who  was  turning  over  a 
book  of  photographs  in  a  conspicuously-disengaged 
l^osition, 

4 


CO  RALPH  WILTON'S   WEIRD. 

"  I  have  had  quite  an  interesting  disquisition  with 
your  father  on  the  East  and  China.  He  evidently 
knows  his  subject." 

"Sir  Peter  is  not  my  father,"  said  the  young  lady, 
with  a  tinge  of  haughtiness. 

"True.  I  forgot,"  apologetically.  "Ah!  that  is 
your  little  artist-sister.     I  am  very  fond  of  children." 

"Are  you  ?  I  am  sure  I  am  not,  little  tiresome, 
useless  animals." 

"  Human  nature  in  the  raw,  eh  !  " 

"Yes;  I  prefer  it  dressed.  Still,  to  quote  an 
inelegant  proverb,  'Too  much  cookery  spoils  the 
broth  ! '  But  some  is  quite  essential.  Here,  Isabel, 
take  my  cup."  The  little  girl  approached  and  offered 
to  take  Wilton's. 

"  No,  not  at  any  age  could  I  permit  such  a  thing," 
said  he,  laughing.  "  And  so  you  are  the  artist  in  the 
house  of  S-aville!     Are  you  very  food  of  drawing?" 

"  1  used  not  to  be  until — "  she  began  to  reply, 
when  her  sister  interrupted  her. 

"  Look,  Isabel,  Miss  Walker  wants  you.  Miss 
Walker  (Hooky  Walker,  as  my  Cousin  Jim  calls  her, 
because  she  has  a  hooked  nose)  is  the  governess.  I 
think  poor  Isabel  is  a  little  afraid  of  her.  She  is 
awfully  clever,  and  very  slow." 

Wilton  looked  at  her  in  deep  disappointment;  the 
mystery  was  growing  more  difficult.     Perhaps  after 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  51 

all,  Ella  Rivers  did  not  live  at  Brosedale  !     Now  he 
recalled  all  she  had  said,  he  found  she  had  not  posi- 
tively  asserted    that   she    lived    there,   or   anywhere. 
Could  it  be  possible  that  she  had  slipped  from   his 
grasp — tha,t  he  would  never  see  her  again — was  she 
only  the  wraith  of  a  charming,  puzzling  girl  ?     Pooh! 
what  was  it  to  him  ?     His  business  was  to  enjov  three 
or  four  months'  sport  and  relaxation.     He  was  so  far 
fortunate.      His    chum,    Moncrief,   had    pitched    on 
excellent  shooting  quarters  for  their  joint  occupation. 
His  campaign  had  proved  a  very  remedial  measure, 
for  he  was  quite  clear  of  his  debts,  and   the  good 
intentions  of  Lord  St.  George  formed   a  pleasing  if 
uncertain    perspective.      So   Wilton    reflected,   while 
Miss  Helen  Savilie  performed  a  tarantelia  of  marvel- 
lous difficulty,  where  accidentals,  abstruse  harmonious 
discords,  and  double  shakes,  appalled  the  listening 
ear.     When  it  was  finished,  the  audience  were  prop- 
erly complimentary,  which  homage  the  fair  performer 
disregarded  with  a  cool  and  lofty  indifference  highly 
creditable  to  her   training  in  the  school  of  modern 
young-ladyism. 

"  What  an  amount  of  study  must  be  required  to 
attain  such  skill  ! "  said  Wilton,  as  she  returned  to 
her  seat  near  him.  "Is  it  indiscreet  to  ask  how 
many  hours  a  day  it  took  to  produce  all  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not   so   very  many.     When    I   was  in   the 


52  RALPH  WILTON" S  WEIRD. 

school-room,  I  practised  four  or  five  ;  now  much  less 
keeps  me  in  practice.  Are  you  fond  of  music,  Col- 
onel Wilton?" 

"Yes,  I  am  extremely  fond  of  it,  in  an  ignorant 
way.  I  like  old  ballads,  and  soft  airs,  and  marches, 
and  all  that  low  style  of  music  suited  to  outside  bar- 
barians like  myself."  *And  Wilton,  instinctively  con- 
scious that  the  brilliant  INIiss  Saville  admired  him, 
bestowed  a  mischievous  glance  upon  her  as  he  spoke, 
not  sorry,  perhaps,  to  act  upon  the  well-known  prin- 
ciple of  counter-irritation,  to  cure  himself  of  the 
absurd  impression  made  upon  him  by  his  chance 
encounter. 

"  I  understand,"  returned  Miss  Saville,  a  Uttle 
piqued,  as  he  had  intended  she  should  be.  "  You  look 
upon  such  compositions  as  I  have  just  played  as  a 
horrid  nuisance." 

"  Like  a  certain  very  bad  spirit,  I  tremble  and 
adore,"  said  Wilton,  laughing.  "  I  have  no  doubt 
however,  that  you  could  charm  my  savage  breast,  or 
rouse  my  martial  fire,  with  'Auld  Robin  Gray'  or 
'  Scots  wha  hae  wi'  Wallace  bled.'  " 

"No,  I  cannot,"  replied  Miss  Saville,  haughtily. 
"Gertrude  sings  a  little,  and,  I  believe,  can  give  you 
'  Auld  Robin  Gray,'  if  you  ask  her." 

"  1  shall  try,  at  all  events,"  said  Wilton,  amused 
at   the  slight  annoyance  of  her  tone,   and  rising  to 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  53 

execute  his  purpose,  when  Helen,  to  his  surprise, 
forestalled  him  by  calling  her  sister  to  her  very 
amiably,  "  Gertrude,  will  you  sing  for  Colonel  \\\\- 
ton  ?  I  will  play  your  accompaniment."  So  the 
desired  ballad  was  sung,  very  correctly  and  quite  in 
tune,  but  as  if  performed  by  some  vocal  instrument 
utterly  devoid  of  human  feeling. 

There  was  more  music,  and  a  good  deal  of  talk 
about  hunting  arrangements  ;  but  Wilton  was  extremely 
pleased  to  be  once  more  in  the  dog-cart,  cigar  in 
mouth,  facing  the  fresh,  brisk  breeze,  on  their  home- 
ward way.  The  major,  on  the  contrary,  was  in  a  far 
more  happy  frame  of  mind  than  at  starting.  He  pre- 
ferred hunting  to  shooting,  and  was  highly  pleased  at 
the  prospect  of  two  days'  hunting  a  week. 

"  You  are  right,  Moncrief,"  said  Wilton,  as  they 
bowled  away  over  the  smooth,  hard  road  ;  "  these 
country  dinners  and  family  parties  ought  to  be 
devoutly  avoided  by  all  sensible  men." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  returned  the  mentor.  '^  I  think 
they  are  a  very  tolerable  lot ;  and  I  fancy  you  found 
amusement  enough  with  that  slashing  fine  girl— 
you  took  very  little  notice  of  any  one  else,  by  Jove  ! 
I  sometimes  think  I  hale  the  lassies,  they  are 
such  kittle  cattle.  Now,  a  woman  that's  '  wooed 
and  married  and  a'  '  is  safe,  and  may  be  just  as 
pleasant." 


54 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


"  I  acknowledge  the  fact,  but  I  object  to  the  mo- 
rality," returned  Wilton,  laughing. 

"  You  do  ?     I  was  not  aware  of  your  regeneration." 

"  Hallo  !  "  cried  Wilton.  "  There's  some  one  in  front 
there,  just  under  the  shadow  of  that  beech-tree." 

"Yes,  I  thought  I  saw  something.  It's  a  child  or 
a  girl." 

Wilton,  who  was  driving,  did  not  answer,  though 
he  drew  up  suddenly,  and  made  a  movement  as  if  to 
throw  aside  the  plaid  that  wrapped  his  knees  and 
spring  down. 

"  What  are  you  about  ?  are  you  daft,  man  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  nothing.  I  fancied — here,  Byrne,  look 
at  this  trace;  it  is  loose." 

"  Sure  it's  all  right,  sir." 

"  Is  it  ?  Never  mind."  And  Wilton,  after  casting 
an  eager  look  up  a  pathway  which  led  from  the  beech- 
tree  into  the  grounds  of  Brosedale,  gathered  up  the 
reins  and  drove  rapidly  home. 

It  was  about  a  week  after  the  Brosedale  dinner 
that  Wilton  had  sallied  forth,  intending  to  ride  over  to 
Monkscleugh.  He  had  nearly  resigned  the  idea  of 
ever  encountering  his  fair  fellow-traveller  again, 
though  he  could  not  shake  off  the  conviction  that  the 
slight  dim  figure  which  had  flitted  from  out  the  shade 
of  th.e  beech-tree,  across  the  moonlight,  and  into  the 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


55 


gloom  of  the  Brosedale  plantations,  was  that  of  Miss 
Rivers.  Still,  it  was  most  strange  that  she  should  be 
there  at  such  an  hour — half-past  ten  at  least — rather 
too  enterprising  for  a  young  lady.  Yet,  if  Moncrief 
had  not  been  with  him,  he  would  certainly  have  given 
chase,  and  satisfied  himself  as  to  the  identity  of  the 
child  or  woman  who  had  crossed  their  path. 

On  this  particular  afternoon,  however,  Wilton's 
thoughts  were  occupied  by  the  letters  he  had  received 
that  morning,  one  of  which  was  from  Lord  St.  George, 
who  v.rote  to  remind  him  of  his  promise  to  call  when 
he  passed  through  London  again.  The  viscount  also 
mentioned   that   a  former  friend  of  his,  the   Earl  of 

D ,  would  be  in  his  (Wilton's)  neighborhood  early 

in  November,  and  would  probably  call  upon  him. 

Wilton  smiled  as  he  read  this,  remembering  that 
the  earl  had  three  unmarried  daughters.  "  A  young 
gentleman,"  the  writer  continued,  "calling  himself  St. 
George  Wilton,  left  a  card  here  some  days  ago,  and 
w-as  good  enough  to  say  that  he  would  call  again, 
which  enabled  me  to  forbid  his  admittance.  He  did 
repeat  the  attempt,  when  he  told  my  valet,  whom 
he  asked  to  see,  that  he  was  going  to  Scotland,  and^ 
would  probably  see  Colonel  Wilton,  if  I  had  any  com- 
mands. I  imagine  my  obliging  namesake  is  a  son  of 
Fred  Wilton,  who  was  in  the  navy — but  not  exactly 
the  type  of  an  honest,  simple  sailor.     I  would  advise 


c6  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

you  not  to  be   on  too  cousinly  terms.     I  have  heard, 
even  in.  my  cell,  of  the  young  gentleman's  diplomatic 


astuteness." 


Pondering  on  this  epistle,  and  smiling  at  the  sud- 
den interest  evinced  toward  him  by  the  eccentric 
peer,  Wilton  rode  leisurely  toward  Monkscleugh, 
enjoying  the  splendid  golden  evening  tinge  in  the  sky, 
the  rich  and  varied  hues  of  wood  and  moorland,  when 
a  sudden  turn  in  the  road  brought  him  face  to  face 
with  a  slight,  gray  figure,  wearing  a  wide-brimmed  hat, 
and  carrying  a  small  parcel.  In  an  instant  all  the 
half-scorned  but  potent  longings,  the  vivid  picture-like 
recollections  of  tones  and  glances,  that  had  haunted 
him  even  while  he  laughed  at  himself  for  being  per- 
vaded by  them — all  these  absurd  fancies  he  had  so 
nearly  shaken  off  rushed  back  in  a  torrent,  and  made 
his  pulses  leap  at  the  immediate  prospect  of  solving 
many  mysteries. 

He  was  dismounted  and  at  her  side  in  an  instant. 
"  I  thought  you  had  vanished— that  I  had  lost  you 
forever  !  "  he  exclaimed,  with  the  sort  of  well-bred 
impetuosity  peculiar  to  his  manner  ;  while,  seeing 
that  she  made  no  motion  to  hold  out  her  hand,  he 
only  lifted  his  hat. 

The  faint  color  came  to  her  cheek  as  she  raised 
her  eyes  frankly  to  his,  with  a  brighter,  merrier  smile 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


57 


than  he  had  seen  upon  her  lip  before.     "  Neverthe- 
less, I  have  not  been  very  far  away." 

"  Have  you  been  at  Brosedale  all  the  time — then 
how  is  it  we  have  not  met  ?  " 

'^  I  cannot  tell ;  but  I  have  been  at  Brosedale." 

Wilton  threw  the  reins  over  his  arm,  and  walked 
on  beside  her.  "  And  are  you  all  right  again — 
recovered  from  your  fright,  and  had  sleep  enough  ?  " 
looking  at  her  eagerly  as  he  spoke,  and  noting  the 
soft  lustre  of  her  eyes,  the  clear,  pale  cheek,  the  ripe 
red  though  not  full  lips,  all  so  much  fairer  and  fresher 
than  when  they  parted. 

"  Yes,  I  am  quite  well,  and  rested."  A  pause. 
She  was  apparently  not  inclined  to  talk  more  than 
she  could  help. 

"  Do  you  know  I  quite  expected  to  see  you  when  I 
dined  at  Brosedale  the  other  day — how  was  it  you  did 
not  appear  ?  " 

"  What !  did  you  expect  to  see  me  at  dinner  ?    Do 
you,  then,  think  I  am  a  much-disguised  princess  ? " 

"  Not  so  very  much  disguised,"  he  replied^  rather 
surprised  at  her  tone. 

She  raised  her  eyes  fully  to  his,  with  a  look  half 
amused,  half  scornful.  "  You  might  dine  many  times 
at  Brosedale  without  seeing  me.  Do  you  know  that 
Sir  Peter  Fergusson  was  married  before,  and  he  has 
one   son — a   poor,    crippled,   often-suffering    boy   of 


58  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

thirteen,  I  think  ?  Well,  this  boy  can  do  very  little  to 
amuse  himself  j  he  does  not  care  for  study,  but  he  loves 
pictures  and  drawing,  so  I  was  engaged  about  a  year 
ago  to  be,  not  his  governess — I  am  too  ignorant — nor 
his  companion — that  would  be  a  lady-in-waiting — but 
a  souffre  doitleiir  and  teacher  of  drawing.  I  live  with 
my  poor  boy,  who  is  never  shown  to  visitors  ;  and  we 
are  not  unhappy  together." 

"  I  have  heard  of  this  son,  but  thought  he  was 
away;  and  you  are  always  with  him — very  fortunate 
for  him,  but  what  a  life  for  you  !  " 

''  A  far  better  life  than  many  women  have,"  she 
replied,  softly,  looking  away  from  him  and  speaking  as 
if  to  herself. 

"  Still,  it  is  an  awful  sacrifice  !  " 

She  laughed  with  real,  sweet  merriment.  "  That 
depends  on  v.hat  has  been  sacrificed.  And  you,"  she 
went  on,  with  the  odd  independence  of  manner  which, 
had  her  voice  been  less  soft  and  low,  her  bearing  less 
gentle,  might  have  seemed  audacious,  "do  you  like 
Glenraven  ?  Have  you  found  many  lovely  bits  of 
scenery  ?  " 

"  I  am  charmed  with  the  country  ;  and,  were  I  as 
fortunate  as  young  Fergusson  in  a  companion,  I  might 
even  try  my  'prentice  hand  at  sketching." 

"  If  you  will  not  try  alone,  neither  will  you  even 
if  Claude  Lorraine  came  to  cut  your  pencils." 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  59 

"  I  wish,"  said  Wilton,  "  I  had  a  chance  of  cutting 
yours." 

"  But  you  have  not,"  she  relurned,  with  a  sort  of 
indolent  gravity  not  in  the  least  coquettish,  and  a 
pause  ensued.  Wilton  had  seldom  felt  so  adrift  with 
any  woman  ;  perfectly  frank  and  ready  to  talk,  there 
was  yet  a  strange  half-cold  indifference  in  her  manner 
that  did  not  belong  to  her  fair  youth^  and  upon  which 
he  dared  not  presume,  though  he  chafed  inwardly  at 
the  mask  her  frankness  offered. 

"  I  suppose  you  are  kept  very  much  in  the  house 
with  your — pupil  ?"  asked  Wilton. 

"  Sometimes  ;  he  has  been  very  unwell  since  I 
came  back.  But  he  has  a  pony-carriage,  and  he  drives 
about,  and  I  drive  it  occasionally  ;  but  it  pains  him  to 
walk,  poor  fellow  !  He  is  interested  in  some  things. 
He  wished  much  to  see  you  and  hear  about  the 
Crimea  and  India." 

"  I  am  sure,"  cried  U'ilton,  with  great  readiness, 
"  I  should  be  most  happy  to  see  him  or  contribute  to 
his  amusement — pray  tell  him  so  from  me." 

"  No,  I  cannot,"  with  a  shake  of  the  head  ;  "  Lady 
Fergusson  is  so  very  good  she  thinks  everything  wrong ; 
and  to  walk  upon  a  country-road  with  a  great  man 
like  you  would  be  worse  than  wrong — it  would  be 
shocking !  " 

Wilton  could  not  refrain  from  laughing  at  the  droll 


6o  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

gravity  of  her  tone,  though  in  some  indefinable  way  it 
piqued  and  annoyed  him. 

"Well,  they  are  all  out  of  the  way — they  have 
driven  over  to  A ,     Have  they  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  therefore  there  was  no  one  to  send  to 
Monkscleugh  to  choose  some  prints  that  Donald 
wanted  very  much  for  a  screen  we  are  making,  so  I 
went." 

"  And  so  at  last  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you. 
I  had  begun  to  fear  I  should  never  have  a  chance  of 
asking  if  you  had  recovered  from  your  fright ;  for 
though  no  woman  could  have  shown  more  pluck,  you 
must  have  been  frightened." 

"I  was,  indeed,  and  I  do  not  think  I  am  naturally 
brave ;  but  I  must  bid  you  good-morning — my  way 
lies  through  the  plantations." 

"No,  no  !  you  must  not  send  me  adrift — are  we 
not  comrades?  We  have  faced  danger  together  ;  and 
I  am  sure  you  are  not  influenced  by  Lady  Fergus- 
son's  views." 

"  Lady  Fergusson  !  pooh  ! " 

There  was  wonderful,  airy,  becoming  grace  in  the 
pant  which  seemed  to  blow  defiance  like  a  kiss  to  the 
immaculate  Lady  Fergusson.  "  Nevertheless,  I  must 
say  good-by,  for  your  horse  could  not  get  through 
that." 

She  pointed  to  a  small  swing-gate,  which  led  from 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  6l 

the  road  to  a  path  across  a  piece  of  rough  heath- 
grown  ground,  between  the  road  and  the  woods. 

'■'  Do  you  forbid  me  to  escort  you  farther  ?  "  said 
Wilton,  quickly. 

She  thought  an  instant.  ''Were  I  going  to  walk 
alone:  the  road  I  should  not,"  the  faintest  color  steal- 
ing  over  her  cheek  as  she  spoke  ;  "  it  is  pleasant  to 
talk  with  a  new  person  sometimes,  but  I  cannot  alter 
my  route." 

W^ilton  laughed,  and,  mounting  rapidly,  rode  to  the 
farther  side  of  the  wide  waste  border,  where  there  was 
almost  a  small  common ;  rousing  up  his  horse  he 
rushed  him  at  the  fence  separating  Sir  Peter's  land 
from  the  road,  and  landed  safely  within  the  boundary 
just  as  his  companion  passed  through  the  gale. 

She  gave  a  slight  suppressed  scream,  and  as  he 
again  dismounted  and  joined  her  she  looked  very  pale. 
"  How  could  you  be  so  foolish  as  to  do  so  ! "  she 
exclaimed,  almost  angry,  "  You  have  frightened  me." 
"I  am  extremely  sorry,  but  you  can  know  little  of 
country-life;  any  man  accustomed  to  hunt,  and  toler- 
ably mounted,  could  have  done  as  much." 

She  shook  her  head  and  walked  on  in  silence, 
most  embarrassing  to  Wilton.  "  I  hope  I  have  not 
displeased  you,"  he  said,  earnestly,  trying  to  look  into 
her  eyes;  "but  I  thought  I  had  your  permission  to 
accompany  you  a  littte  farther." 


62  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"Yes,  but  who  could  imagine  you  would  commit 
such  an  eccentricity  as  to  take  a  leap  like  that?  " 

"  I  do  not  allow  it  was  an  eccentricity;  I  suppose 
you  absolve  me  ? " 

'■^  Ahsolvo  te! — and  the  horse  also.  \Miat  a  beauti- 
ful horse;  how  gently  he  follows  you!  I  should  so 
much  like  to  sketch  him  ;  I  fear  I  do  not  sketch 
animals  well ;  I  do  not  catch  their  character.  Oh  ! 
could  I  sketch  him  now  ! "  stopping  short,  and  speak- 
ing with  great  animation.  "  Ah  !  I  am  too  unreason- 
able— how  could  I  ask  you  ? " 

The  faint  flitting  flush  that  gave  so  much  charm  to 
her  countenance,  the  sudden  lighting  ujd  of  her  dark 
eyes  with  childlike  eagerness,  so  unlike  their  usual 
expression  of  rather  sad  indilTerence,  fascinated  Wilton 
strangely  ;  it  was  an  instant  before  he  replied,  "  Of 
course  you  shall  sketch  him  ;  I  have  nothing  to  do, 
and  am  very  glad  to  be  of  any  service  to  you." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you  very  much  !  See,"  as  she 
hastily  unfolded  her  parcel,  "  I  had  just  bought  a  new 
sketch-book^  and  you  have  provided  a  frontispiece." 
She  seated  herself  on  one  of  the  large  gray  stones 
that  dotted  the  piece  of  ground  they  were  crossing, 
and  quickly  pointed  a  pencil.  "  There,  turn  his  head 
a  little  toward  me — not  quite  so  much  ;  that  will  do." 

For  some  time  Wilton  stood  still  and  silent,  watch- 
ing the  small,  white,  deft  fingers  as  they  firmly  and 


RALPH  IVILTO.y'S  WEIRD.  63 

rapidly  traced  the  outline,  or  put  in  the  shading  with 
broad,  bold  strokes  ;  occasionally  he  quieted  the  horse 
with  a  word,  while  he  stored  his  memory  with  the 
pretty  graceful  figure,  fi-om  a  tiny  foot  half-buried  in 
the  soft,  short  grass  to  the  well-set,  haughty  head  and 
neck.  "  It  is  curious,"  he  thought ;  "  here  is  a  girl, 
in  almost  a  menial  position,  with  all  the  attributes  of 
race,  and  a  pair  of  eyes  a  king's  daughter  might  pine 
to  possess.  Who  can  she  be  ?  What  is  her  history  ? 
Why  did  she  venture  out  alone  when  she  ought  to  have 
been  going  to  bed  ?  I  shall  ask  her."  These  ideas 
passed  dirough  Wilton's  brain,  although  any  clear  con- 
tinuity of  thought  was  considerably  impeded  by  the 
intermittent  glimpses  of  a  pair  of  full,  deep-blue  eyes, 
alternately  upturned  and  downcast. 

Suddenly  Wilton  was  ordered,  "  Look  away — over 
your  horse's  neck  ; "  and  when,  having  preserved  this 
position  for  several  moments,  he  attempted  to  assume 
a  more  agreeable  attitude,  he  was  met  wiih  an  eager 
"  Pray  be  still  for  a  little  longer." 

At  last  he  was  released. 

"  There,"  said  his  new  acquaintance,  "  I  will  keep 
you  no  longer  ;  you  have  been  very  kind.  See,  how 
have  I  done  it  ?  " 

Wilton  looked  eagerly  at  the  page  held  out  to  him. 

"  It  is  wonderfully  good  for  so  hasty  a  sketch,"  he 
said  ;  "  the  head  and  foreleg  are  capital,  and  as  far  as 


64  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

I  can  judge,  the  likeness  to  the  back  of  my  head  fjjrst- 
rate." 

"  I  can  generally  catch  the  likeness  of  people,"'  she 
returned,  looking  at  the  page  and  touching  it  here  and 
there. 

"  Was  that  the  reason  you  told  me  to  look  away  ?  " 
asked  Wilton,  smiling. 

"  No  ;  I  did  not  wish  your  face  in  my  book." 
Then,  coloring  and  looking  up,  "■  Not  that  I  forget 
your  kindness  to  me.  No  ;  but,  you  understand,  if 
Lady  Fergusson  found  Mr. — that  is.  Colonel — Wilton's 
face  in  my  book  it  would  be  the  most  shocking — the 
superlative  shocking !  Ah,  there  is  no  word  enormous 
enough  for  such  a  'shocking  !  '  "  And  she  laughed 
low  but  merrily.  Wilton  found  it  catching  and 
laughed  too,  though  it  puzzled  him  to  reply.  She 
went  on,  "You  would  have  come  in  better  for  the 
picture  had  you  had  your  soldier's  dress  on,  holding 
the  horse  and  looking  thus;  and  then,  with  some 
bright  coloring,  it  might  have  been  called  '  On  the 
Alert,'  or  some  such  thing,  and  sold  for  a  hundred 
pence.  I  have  seen  this  sort  of  sketches  often  in 
picture-shops."  She  spoke  quickly,  as  if  to  cover  a 
slight  embarrassment,  as  she  put  away  her  pencils  and 
book. 

"  Well,  Miss  Rivers,  both  Omar  here  and  myself 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  65 

will  be  most  happy  to  sit,  or  rather  stand,  for  you 
whenever  you  like." 

"Ah,  I  shall  never  have  another  opportunity,"  she 
replied,  walking  toward  the  next  fence  and  swing-gate, 
which  led  into  the  wood. 

"  You  threatened  as  much  when  I  bade  you  good- 
by,  that  I  was  never  to  see  you  again,  and  yet  we  have 
met ;  so  I  shall  not  be  utterly  downcast  by  your 
present  prophecy." 

She  did  not  reply  for  a  minute,  and  then  exclaimed, 
"  Suppose  I  were  ever  to  succeed  in  making  painting 
my  career,  w^ould  you,  when  you  are  a  great  nobleman 
— as  Miss  Saville  says  you  will  be — sit  to  me  for  your 
picture  ?  And  then  we  should  have  in  the  catalogue 
of  the  year's  exhibition,  '  Portrait  of  the  Earl — or 
Duke— of  Blank,  by  Ella  Rivers.'  " 

"  I  can  only  say  I  will  sit  to  you  when  and  where 
you  will." 

"  Ah,  the  possibility  of  independent  work  is  too 
charming  !     But  I  forget  myself — what  o'clock  is  it .''  " 

"  Quarter  to  three,"  said  Wilton,  looking  at  his 
watch. 

"  Then  I  have  been  out  too  long.     See  how  low 

the  sun  is  !     What  glorious  sunset  hues  I     But  I  must 

'  not  stay.     Oh,  how  I  hate  to  go  in  !     How  I  love  the 

liberty  of  the  open   air — the  free,  unwalled  space!     I 

feel  another  being  in  the  prison  of  a  great  house.     If 


66  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

you  met  me  there,  you  would  not  know  me.  I  should 
not  dare  to  look  up  ;  I  should  speak  with  bated  breath, 
as  if  you  were  a  superior.  Can  you  fancy  such  a 
thing  ? " 

"  No  ;  the  wildest  stretch  of  my  imagination  could 
not  suggest  such  an  idea.  But^an  you  not  keep  out  a 
little  longer.?"  There  was  a  strained,  yearning  look 
in  her  eyes  that  touched  Wilton  to  the  heart. 

"  Impossible  !  My  poor  Donald  will  be  cross  and 
wretched.  And  you — you  must  go.  I  am  foolish  to 
have  talked  so  much." 

"  You  must  let  me  come  a  little  farther  ;  that  fence 
up  there  is  considerably  stiffer  than  the  last,  but  I 
think  Omar  will  take  it." 

"  No,  no,  no  !  "  clasping  her  hands. 

"  Yet  you  are  not  easily  frightened.  A  young  lady 
that  can  venture  on  a  moonlight  ramble  when  less 
adventurous  people  are  going  to  bed  must  have  strong 
nerves." 

"  Did  you  recognize  me,  then  ?  "  she  interrupted, 
not  in  the  least  disturbed  by  his  question,  but  offering 
no  explanation  of  her  appearance  at  such  an  hour. 
"Yes,  I  am  not  cowardly  in  some  things.  However, 
I  must  say  good  morning." 

"  And  you  will  not  permit  me  come  any  farther?  " 

"No!" — He    felt  her  "no"  was  very  earnest. — 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  67 

"  Nay,  more,  I  will  stay  here  until  I  see  you  safe  at  the 
other  side  of  that  fence  again." 

There  was  a  quaint_,  unembarrassed  decision  in 
her  tone  that  somewhat  lessened  the  pleasure  with 
which  he  heard  her. 

"  I  assure  you,  it  is  not  worth  your  while  to  watch 
so  insignificant  a  feat  of  horsemanship  ;  that  fence  is 
a  nothing." 

"  It  does  not  seem  so  to  me.  It  is  possible  an 
accident  might  happen,  and  then  you  would  have  no 
help.  It  would  not  be  right  to  go  on,  and  leave  you 
to  chance." 

"If  you  will,  then,  I  .shall  not  keep  you  long. 
But,  Mi?s  Rivers,  shall  you  not  want  to  visit  Monks- 
cleugh  soon  again  ?  Have  you  abjured  the  pictur- 
esque braes  of  Glenraven.'  Is  there  no  chance  of 
another  artistic  talk  with  you  }  " 

"No!  Scarcely  any  possibility  of  such  a  thing. 
Good-by !  I  am  much  obliged  for  the  sketch  you 
granted  me.  My  good  wishes  !  " — a  slight,  proudly- 
gracious  bend  of  the  head — "but  go!"  She  stood 
with  her  parcel  tightly  held,  not  the  slightest  symptom 
of  a  shake  of  the  hand;  and,  bold  man  of  the  world 
as  he  was,  Wilton  felt  he  must  not  presume  to  hold 
out  his ;  he  therefore  sprung  into  the  saddle,  and  was 
soon  over  the  fence  and  on  the  road.  He  raised  his 
hat,  and  received  a  wave  of  the  hand  in  return. 


68  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

He  remained  there  until  she  vanished  through  the 
gate,  and  then,  touching  his  impatient  horse  with  the 
heel,  rode  at  speed  to  Monkscleugh,  whence,  having 
accomplished  his  errand,  he  made  a  considerable 
detour ;  so  that  evening  had  closed  in,  and  the  major 
was  waiting  for  dinner  when  he  reached  the  lodge. 

-  "Where  have  you  been?"  demanded  his  hungry 
senior.  Wilton  replied  by  an  elaborate  description  of 
his  progress,  minus  the  leading  incident.  The  care  he 
took  to  mislead  his  friend  and  mask  his  own  move- 
ments was  surprising  almost  to  himself.  Yet,  as  he 
reflected,  what  was  there  in  the  whole  adventure  to 
conceal  ?  No  harm,  certainly.  Nor  was  Moncrief  a 
man  who  would  jest  coarsely,  or  draw  wicked  infer- 
ences. Still,  it  was  impossible  that  he  or  any  man 
could  understand  the  sort  of  impression  Ella  (it  was 
extraordinary  how  readily  her  name  came  to  his  mind) 
had  made  upon  him,  unless  he  knew  her;  and  even 
then,  what  opinion  would  a  cool,  shrewd,  common- 
sense  fellow  like  Moncrief  form  .''  He  (Wilton)  him- 
self was,  he  feared,  an  impressionable  idiot,  and,  no 
doubt,  exaggerated  effects.  Nevertheless,  those  soft, 
deep  eyes,  with  their  earnest,  yearning  expression, 
haunted  him  almost  painfully.  If  he  could  see  them 
again,  perhaps  the  effect  would  wear  oif ;  and,  with- 
out thinking  of  the  consequences,  he  most  resolutely 
determined   to  see   her  as  soon  as  he  could  possibly 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  69 

manage  to  do  so,  without  drawing  down  any  unpleas- 
antness on  that  curious,  puzzling, //^?^^///^  girl.  Major 
Moncrief  little  imagined  the  vivid  gleams  of  recollec- 
tion and  conjecture  which  ever  and  anon  shot  athwart 
the  current  of  his  companion's  ideas,  as  he  took  his 
part  in  a  discussion  on  the  probable  future  of  the 
army  in  India  w'ith  apparent  interest,  and  even  eager- 
ness. The  major's  intelligence  was  keen  so  far  as  it 
went,  but  that  was  not  far  ;  therefore,  though  good 
comrades  and  excellent  friends,  they  seldom  agreed 
in  opinion,  Wilton's  mental  views  being  greatly  wider: 
the  result  of  the  difference  being  that  Moncrief  con- 
sidered Wilton  "  a  fine  fellow,  but  deucedly  visionary 
— unpractical,  in  short,"  except  in  regimental  matters  ; 
while  Wilton  spoke  confidentially  of  the  major  as  "  a 
capital  old  boy,  but  blind  as  a  bat  in  some  directions." 

"Well,  I  maintain  that  we  will  never  have  such 
men  again  as  the  soldiers  and  diplomates  trained 
under  the  old  company.  Why,  even  the  officers  of  the 
humbler  grade — the  Jacobs  and  Greens,  to  say  nothing 
of  Edwards  and  a  lot  more — have  very  few  equals  in 
the  queen's  service." 

"True  enough,"  replied  Wilton,  a  little  absently. 
"  We  have  too  much  pipe-clay  and  red-tape."  So 
spake  he  with  his  lips,  while  his  brain  was  striving 
busily  to  solve  the  question,  "  What  could  have  brought 
her  out  at  night  through  the   lonely  woods  ?     Was  it 


70 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


possible  that  any  motive  less  strong  than  an  appoint- 
ment with  a  lover  could  have  braced  a  slight,  nervous 
girl  (for,  though  plucky,  she  is  nervous)  to  such  an 
undertaking  ?  But,  if  she  cared  enough  for  any  one 
to  dare  it,  it  would  be  worth  braving  a  good  deal  to 
meet  her."  The  picture  suggested  was  rather  fascinat- 
ing, for  the  major  exclaimed,  "  I  say,  Wilton,  are  you 
asleep  ? "  and  brought  their  discussion  to  an  end. 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  yi 


CHAPTER   IV. 

ANOTHER  week  passed  rapidly  over,  assisted  in 
its  flight  by  two  capital  runs  with  the  Friarshire 
hounds  and  a  dinner  at  a  neighboring  magnate's, 
where  Wilton  made  himself  marvellously  agreeable  to 
Helen  Saville,  and  promised  to  ride  with  her  next  day ; 
but  neither  at  luncheon  nor  in  the  house  or  grounds 
did  he  catch  a  glimpse  of  Ella  Rivers  ;  again  she  had 
totally  disappeared. 

Miss  Saville  did  not  find  Wilton  so  pleasant  a 
companion,  either  during  their  ride  or  the  luncheon 
which  preceded  it,  as  he  had  been  at  dinner  the  day 
before. 

The  accomplished  Miss  Walker  and  her  pupil 
joined  the  party,  but  no  other  junior  member  of  the 
family. 

"  What  an  infamous  shame,"  thought  Wilton,  "  not 
to  let  that  poor  boy  have  a  little  society  !  "  However, 
Fortune  was  not  quite  inexorable.  As  Wilton  rode 
up  to  the  door  on  their  return,  intending  to  bid  the 
young    ladies  under  his  escort   good-by,  he  became 


72 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


aware  of  a  small  figure,  with  a  large  head  and  promi- 
nent eyes,  standing  on  the  threshold,  supported  by 
crutches,  while  a  pony-carriage  was  just  disappearing 
toward  the  stables. 

"  What  a  nuisance !  "  said  Helen  to  Gertrude. 
"  I  wonder  what  that  boy  wants  ?  " 

"  Well,  Donald,  you  ought  not  to  stay  here  after 
your  drive.     You  will  take  cold,''  said  Miss  Saville. 

"  Never  you  mind,"  retorted  the  boy,  in  a  shrill, 
resentful  voice.     ''  I  want  to  speak  to  Colonel  Wilton." 

"  To  me  ? "  said  Wilton,  coming  forward. 

"  YeSj  I  have  asked  them  all  to  bring  you  to  see 
me,  and  they  won't.  I  believe  they'd  like  to  smother 
me  altogether.  Will  you  come  and  see  me  and  Ella? 
I  want  to  hear  about  a  battle  and  lots  of  things." 

He  spoke  with  a  sort  of  querulous  impetuosity. 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  rub  up  my  recollections 
for  your  benefit,"  said  Wilton,  good-humoredly,  and 
taking  the  hand  which  the  little  cripple  contrived  to 
hold  out  to  him. 

"  When  will  you  come  .'     To-morrow  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  1  cannot,"  replied  Wilton,  remem- 
bering an  engagement  with  Moncrief,  and  speaking 
with  very  genuine  regret. 

"  Well,  the  day  after  .?  " 

"  Oh,  don't  tease,  Donny,"  cried  Gertrude  Saville. 

"The   first    time    Colonel  Wilton  comes  over  to 


RALPH    HILTON'S    WEIRD.  73 

luncheon  I  will  ask  him  to  come   and  talk  to  you," 
said  Helen. 

"  Colonel  Wilton,  will  you  just  ask  for  me — Master 
Fergusson  !  In  the  old  times,  I  would  be  '  Master  of 
Brosedale.',    I  shall  never  see  you  if  you  do  not." 

"  Depend  on  my  calling  on  you,"  returned  Wilton, 
smiling. 

"  And  soon  ? " 

"Yes,  very  soon." 

Without  another  word,  the  unfortunate  heir  of  so 
much  wealth  turned  and  limped  into  the  hall  with 
surprising  rapidity. 

"  How  annoying  !  "  cried  Gertrude. 

"What  an  awful  bore!"  said  Helen.  "Really, 
Colonel  Wilton,  I  am  quite  vexed  that  he  should 
intrude  himself  upon  you." 

"  Why  !  I  do  not  see  anything  vexatious  in  it." 

"  You  are  too  good.  Do  you  know  that  boy  is 
the  bane  of  our  existence?" 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  shoot  him  ?  "  asked  Wilton, 
laughing.  "  I  really  cannot  wait  to  do  so  at  present, 
so  good  morning,  though  closing  shades  almost  com- 
pel me  to  say  good  night." 

It  was  nearly  a  week  before  Wilton  permitted  him- 
self to  accept  the  invitation  given  him  by  the  heir  of 
Brosedale,  and,  in   the   interim,  he  dined    at    D 


74  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

Castle.  The  Ladies  Mowbray  were  pleasant,  unaf- 
fected girls,  considerably  less  imposing  and  more 
simple  than  Helen  Saville. 

*'  These  are  exactly  the  style  of  women  to  please 
Lord  St.  George,"  thought  Wilton,  as  he  walked  over 
to  Brosedale  a  day  or  two  after.  '*  And  very  much 
the  style  to  please  myself  formerly;  but  at  present — 
no.  I  am  wonderfully  absorbed  by  this  temporary 
insanity,  which  must  not  lead  me  too  far."  Musing 
in  this  strain,  he  reached  the  grand,  brand-new  house, 
where  Lady  Fergusson  and  her  daughters  received 
him  in  rich  silk  morning  costumes,  very  becoming  and 
tasteful,   but,    somehow,  not  so  pkasant   to  his   eye 

as  the  pretty,  fresh    print  dresses  of  Lord   D 's 

daughters. 

Sir  Peter  came  in  to  luncheon,  which  he  did  not 
always.  His  presence  generally  produced  a  depressing 
effect  upon  his  fair  step-daughters,  and  Wilton  began 
to  fear  that  no  one  would  give  him  -.^x  opening  to  fulfil 
his  promise  to  the  crippled  boy.  At  last  he  took  the 
initiative  himself;  and,  when  Sir  Peter  paused  in 
an  exposition  of  the  opium-trade,  Wilton  addressed 
Helen  : 

"You  must  not  let  me  break  my  promise  to  your 
brother — step-brother,  I  mean." 

"  How  !  what !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Peter  to  his  wife. 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD.  75 

"  Has  he  seen  Donald  ? "     He  spoke  in  a  sharp,  star- 
tled tone. 

"The  young  gentleman  introduced  himself  to  me 
at  the  entrance  of  your  hospitable  mansion  the  other 
day,  and  expressed  a  wish  to  hear  my  warlike  experi- 
ences, so  I  promised  to  give  him  a  seance." 

"You  are  very  good,"  said  Sir  Peter,  slowly,  look- 
ing down.  "Donald  has  but  few  pleasures,  poor 
fellow !  " 

After  this,  all  the  talk  died  out  of  the  little  baronet, 
and  he  soon  rose  and  left  the  room. 

"  Indeed  !  "  cried  Gertrude,  as  the  door  closed  on 
her  step-father,  "  Donald  has  tormented  us  ever  since 
to  know  when  you  were  coming  to  see  him.  You  had 
better  take  Colonel  Wilton  to  the  school-room,  Helen, 
and  have  done  with  it." 

"  I  am  quite  ashamed  of  troubling  you.  Colonel 
Wilton,"  said  Lady  Fergusson.  "But  that  boy's 
whims  are  very  absurd,  and  Sir  Peter  is  very  weak,  I 
must  say." 

"  However,  we  have  had  quite  a  respite  since  little 
Miss  Rivers  came  down,"  interrupted  Helen  Saville. 
"  She  manages  him  wonderfully.  You  cannot  think 
what  a  curious  pair  they  are  together.  You  have  seen 
Donald;  and  Miss  Rivers,  though  not  absolutely 
plain,  is  a  cold,  colorless  little  thing,  generally  very 
silent." 


76  RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 

"But  she  can  tell  stories  delightfully,"  cried 
Isabella  ;  "  she  makes  Donald  laugh  and  be  quite 
good-humored  for  hours  together." 

"I  fear,"  interrupted  the  accomplished  Miss 
Walker,  "  that,  if  my  young  charge  is  too  much  with 
Master  Fergusson  and  his  companion,  her  mind  will 
be  quite  occupied  with  a  very  useless  array  of  fairy 
tales  and  legends,  more  calculated  to  distort  than  to 
illustrate  historic  truth." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  right.  Miss  Walker.  Isabella, 
you  must  not  go  into  Donald's  room  without  Miss 
Walker's  permission.''  remarked  Lady  Fergusson. 

"And  she  will  never  let  me,"  said  Isabella,  with  a 
very  rebellious  pout. 

"  Well,  well,  let  us  get  this  visit  over,"  cried  Helen, 
rising.     "  1  will  see  if  he  is  in  the  house  and  visible." 

"  You  cannot  think  what  a  nuisance  that  poor  boy 
was  to  my  girls  at  first,  and  how  well  they  bore  with 
him,  particularly  Helen,"  said  Lady  Fergusson.  "  I 
am  sure  Miss  Walker  did  the  state  great  service  when 
she  found  little  Miss  Rivers.  She  suits  Donald  won- 
derfully, though  she  is  an  oddity  in  her  own  way  also." 

Miss  Walker  murmured  something  about  "being 
happy,"  but  her  tone  was  melancholy  and  uncertain, 
as  though  she  thought  the  introduction  of  an  element 
at  variance  with  historic  truth  was  a  doubtful  good. 

Wilton  made   no  direct  reply  ;  he   was  ciuious  to 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 


77 


ascertain  if  Miss  Rivers  had  mentioned  him,  and  anx- 
ious in  any  case  to  jDlay  into  her  hands. 

Helen  Saville  returned  quickly. 

"  Yes,"  she'said^  "Donald  is  at  home,  and  will  be 
highly  pleased  to  see  you." 

Wilton  accordingly  followed  her  through  various 
well-warmed  and  carpeted  passages  to  a  handsome 
room  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  house,  which  was  the 
dwelling-place  of  the  heir.  Books  and  music,  a  piano, 
drawing-materials,  globes,  pictures,  maps,  all  appli- 
ances for  amusement  and  study,  gave  a  pleasant  aspect 
to  the  apartment.  The  boy  was  seated  in  a  chair  of 
elaborate  make,  furnished  with  a  desk  and  candle- 
holder,  and  which  could  be  raised  or  lowered  to  any 
angle.  His  crutch  lay  at  hand,  and  he  seemed 
engaged  in  drawing.  He  was  plain  and  unattractive 
enough — a  shrivelled-looking  frame,  a  large  head,  wide 
mouth,  projecting  brow — all  the  characteristics  of 
deformity.  Even  large  and  glittering  eyes  did  not 
redeem  the  pale,  wan  face,  over  which  gleamed  a 
malign  expression  by  no  means  pleasant  to  a  stranger. 

*'  I  thought  you  would  never  come,"  he  exclaimed, 
bluntly,  in  a  harsh,  querulous  voice,  and  holding  out 
his  hand. 

"You  will  accept  me  now  I  am  here,  I  hope,"  said 
Wilton,  smiling. 

'*  Oh,  yes;  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you." 


^S  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"  You  are  an  artist,  I  see  ?  " 

"I  hope  to  be  one.     Look  here." 

Wilton  approached  his  desk.  A  sketch  lay  upon 
it.  A  confused  mass  of  figures,  apparently  intended 
for  a  desperate  battle. 

"  This,"  continued  Donald,  "  is  what  I  wanted  you 
for.  This  is  a  study  for  a  large  picture  in  oils  (I  will 
begin  it  when  I  am  a  little  stronger)  of  the  battle  of 
Balaklava.  Nothing  has  ever  been  made  of  this  sub- 
ject, and  I  want  to  make  something  of  it ;  so  I 
thought  you  would  just  look  at  my  sketch  and  see  if 
I  have  caught  an  idea  of  the  scene,  and  correct  any 
inaccuracy  that  strikes  you." 

"I  should  be  most  happy  to  help  you,"  returned 
Wilton,  looking  hopelessly  at  the  crowd  of  forms  before 
him  ;  "but  I  fear  my  capabilities  are  not  quite  equal 
to  the  task.  In  the  first  place,  I  was  not  in  the  Bal- 
aklava affair,  and  then  one's  recollections  of  a  battle 
are  not  very  clear." 

"  If  confusion  is  a  true  likeness,  Donny's  picture 
will  be  remarkably  successful,"  said  Miss  Saville,  with 
a  grave  manner.  Her  words  brought  a  flush  to  the 
boy's  pale  brow. 

■"  I  wish  you  would  go  away,"  he  said,  rudely  and 
abruptly.  "  I  can  never  talk  about  anything  when 
you  are  by." 

"To  hear  is  to  obey,"  replied  Miss  Saville,  rising; 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIKD. 


79 


"  only  do  not  try  Colonel  Wilton's  patience  too 
much." 

"  Go  !  go  !  "  returned  Donald,  almost  fiercely. 

Wilton  could  not  refrain  from  smiling  as  she  left 
the  room. 

"  I  hate  those  Savilles  ! "  cried  Donald,  observing 
it ;  ^'  and  so  would  you  if  you  lived  in  the  house  with 
them." 

"That  is  a  subject  on  which  we  shall  never  agree. 
Let  us  return  to  your  picture,"  said  Wilton,  thinking 
what  a  thorough  "sell"  it  would  be  if  Ella  Rivers 
never  made  her  appearance ;  for,  with  all  his  surface 
easy  good-nature,  Wilton  did  not  fancy  sacrificing 
even  a  small  share  of  his  time  to  an  ill-natured  imp 
like  this. 

"  Look  here  !  I  have  made  this  hussar  grasp  a 
lancer  by  the  throat,  and  thrust  a  sword  into  his  side. 
Will  that  do  ?  " 

"  I  see.  Well,  hardly.  You  know  both  hussars 
and  lancers  were  our  men,  therefore  you  must  not 
make  them  fight ;  and  here  you  have  not  the  Russian 
uniform  quite  correctly.  I  think  I  have  some 
sketches  of  the  Russians  that  would  help  you.  But 
is  it  not  rather  ambitious  for  such  a  voungster  as 
yourself  to  aim  at  historical  painting.?"' 

"  That  is  what  Ella  says ;  but  it  is  my  only  chance 
of  fame."     The  word  on  his  lips  was  suggestive  of 


8o  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

sadness,  and  Wilton  looked  at  the  frail  form,  the 
pallid  face,  the  thin,  tremulous,  feverish  fingers  with 
compassion.  Before  he  could  reply,  a  door  behind 
him  opened  softly.  "  Oh,  come  here,  Ella  ! ''  cried 
Donald.  Wilton  turned  quickly,  and  just  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  gray  skirt  vanishing.  "  Ella,  come 
back  !  Ella  !  Ella !  "  screamed  the  boy,  with  a  sort 
of  angry  impatience  that  would  not  be  denied. 

"  I  am  here,  then,"  she  said,  reopening  the  door 
and  coming  in. 

Wilton  felt  his  (not  inexperienced)  heart  throb  as 
she  approached,  her  cheek  warm  with  a  soft,  flitting 
blush,  a  slight  smile  upon  her  lips,  but  her  large  eyes 
grave  and  calm.  It  was  the  first  time  Wilton  had 
seen  her  in-doors,  and  the  delicate  dignity  of  her  look, 
especially  the  setting  on  of  her  head,  charmed  him. 
The  excessive  simplicity  of  her  perpetual  gray  dress 
could  not  hide  the  grace  of  her  slim,  round  form,  and 
yet  he  could  well  imagine  that  the  vulgar,  common 
taste  that  looks  for  rich  color  and  striking  outline 
might  consider  the  quiet  moonlight  beauty  of  this 
obscure  girl  something  almost  plain. 

Wilton  greeted  her  silently  as  she  approached, 
with  a  profound  bow.     She  acknowledged  him. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  had  any  one  with  you,"  she 
said  to  her  pupil. 

'•Do  you  know  Colonel  Wilton.^"  he  asked,  sharply. 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  gl 

"  He  was  in  the  train  with  me  when  the  collision 
occurred,"  she  replied  quietly,  the  color  fading  away 
from  her  cheek,  and  leaving  it  very  pale 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  ?  " 

"There  was  nothing  to  tell,  and  you  never  asked 
me  about  my  adventures." 

"This  young  gentleman  is  very  ambitious,"  said 
Wilton,  to  change  the  subject.  "  He  is  designing  to 
immortalize  himself  and  the  Six  Hundred  at  once." 

"  He  will  not  have  patience.  I  tell  him  that  even 
the  greatest  genius  must  wait  and  work."  She  sighed 
as  she  spoke.  "  Besides,  it  is  almost  desecration  for 
art  to  bestow  itself  on  such  a  subject." 

"  There  !  "  cried  the  boy,  passionately,  "  you 
always  discourage  me  ;  you  are  cruel !  Have  I  so 
much  pleasure  or  hope  that  you  should  take  this  from 
me?" 

She  rose  from  the  seat  she  had  taken  and  came  to 
him^  laying  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  with  a  wonder- 
fully tender  gesture.  "  I  do  not  discourage  you,  caro  ! 
You  have  much  ability,  but  you  have  scarcely  four- 
teen years.  Twenty  years  hence  you  will  still  be 
young,  quite  young  enough  to  paint  men  tearing  each 
other  to  pieces  with  immense  success.  Now,  you 
must  learn  to  walk  before  you  can  fly  upon  the  wings 
of  fame.     Let  us  put  this  away." 


82  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"  No,  you  shall  not.  As  to  twenty  years  hence, 
do  not  talk  of  them  to  me !  " 

The  fierce,  complaining  tone  passed  from  his 
voice,  and  he  leaned  back,  raising  his  eyes  to  hers 
with  a  yearning,  loving,  sad  expression  that  struck 
Wilton  with  strange  jealousy.  The  boy  was  old  for 
his  years,  and  perhaps,  unknown  to  himself,  loved  his 
gentle  companion  with  more  than  brotherly  love. 
The  idea  chafed  him,  and  to  banish  it  he  spoke  : 

"  Why  not  make  separate  studies  for  your  figures  ? 
It  will  practise  your  hand  and  make  material  for  your 
picture.  I  will  send  you  over  the  Russian  views  and 
figures  I  have  ;  they  will  help  you  as  to  costume  and 
scenery." 

There  was  a  pause.  Wilton  was  determined  not 
to  go  away  ;  and  Donald,  the  fire  gone  from  his  eyes, 
his  very  figure  limp,  would  not  speak.  At  last,  Miss 
Rivers,  who  was  arranging  a  box  of  colors,  said, 
"This  gentleman — Colonel  Wilton's  suggestion  is 
very  good.  Suppose  you  act  upon  it  ?  And  perhaps 
he  will  come  again,  and  see  how  you  go  on."    it 

She  looked  at  Colonel  Wilton  as  she  spoke,  and 
he  tried  to  make  out  whether  she  wished  him  to  return, 
or  to  give  him  the  opportunity  of  escape.  Although 
not  inclined  to  under-estimate*himself,  he  came  to  the 
latter  conclusion  ;  but  did  not  avail  himself  of  it. 


RALPH  WILTON'S   WEIRD.  83 

*'  You  have  something  more  to  show  me,  have  you 
not !  "  he  asked,  kindly. 

"  Yes  ;  plenty  much  better,"  answered  Ella  Rivers 
for  him  ;  and,  slipping  away  the  fatal  battle-scene, 
she  replaced  it  with  a  portfolio  full  of  sketches  very 
unequal  in  merit.  Ella  quickly  picked  out  the  best, 
and  Donald  appeared  to  cheer  up  under  the  encour- 
agement of  AVilton's  praise. 

"  Show  your  sketch  of  '  Dandy,'  "  said  the  boy  to 
Ella. — "  She  draws  very  well. — Bring  your  portfolio, 
Ella,"  he  went  on. 

"  It  is  not  necessary.  You  are  keeping  Colonel 
Wilton." 

"  You  are  not,  indeed.  I  rather  fancy  you  wish  to 
get  rid  of  me.  Miss  Rivers." 

"  Miss  Rivers  !  Miss  Rivers  !  How  did  you 
know  her  name  ?  " 

"  I  ?  Oh,  I  have  heard  it  several  times  !  Your 
sister  mentioned  Miss  Rivers  to-day  at  luncheon." 

"  Show  your  book,  Ella,  at  all  events." 

Shg"  went  to  a  distant  table,  after  a  full,  searching 
look  at  Colonel  Wilton,  and  brought  the  book  he  well 
remembered. 

"  Here  is  a  capital  likeness  of  my  pony  and  my 
father's  pet  Skye.  But,  Ella,  you  have  torn  out  a  page 
—the  first  one.     Why  ? " 

"Because   it  pleased  me  to  do  so."     She  spoke 


84  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

very  composedly,  but  the  color  went  and  came  faintly 
in  her  cheek. 

"  Do  tell  me  why,  Ella  ?  "  with  sharp,  angry  en- 
treaty. 

"  I  will  not.,  Donald  !     You  are  tyrannical." 

His  eyes  flashed,  but  he  controlled  himself. 

"  Is  not  this  capital  ?  "  he  asked,  holding  out  the 
book. 

"  Very  good — first-rate,"  returned  Wilton,  looking 
at  two  admirably  drawn  figures  of  a  pony  and  dog. 

"  It  is  better.  I  want  to  improve  in  animals,"  said 
Ella,  looking  down  upon  the  page  ;  and  a  little  con- 
versation ensued  respecting  this  line  of  art,  in  which 
Donald  took  no  share.  Suddenly  Ella  looked  at  him. 
"  Vou  are  ill !  you  are  suffering  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
darting  to  his  side,  and  putting  her  arm  round  his 
neck,  while,  pale  as  death  and  half  fainting,  he  rested 
his  head  against  her  breast. 

"  Pray  bring  me  that  phial  and  glass  from  the 
cabinet,"  she  said,  quickly.  Wilton  obeyed  ;  he  held- 
the  glass  while  she  poured  out  the  right  quantity  ;  he 
took  the  bottle  again,  while  she  held  the  glass  to  the 
poor  boy's  lips  ;  he  assisted  to  lower  the  wonderful 
chair  till  the  weary  head  could  be  gently  placed  in  a 
restful  position,  all  without  a  word  being  exchanged  ; 
then  Ella  took  the  poor,  thin  hand  in  hers,  and  felt 
the  pulse,  and  stroked  it. 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  8$ 

Donald  opened  his  eyes.  "  Ella,  I  am  better  ; 
ask  him  to  say  nothing  about  it."' 

"I  will,  dear  Donald,  I  will." — Then,  turning  to 
Wilton,  "  Come,  I  will  show  the  way."  The  moment 
they  crossed  the  threshold  she  exclaimed,  '^  It  will 
be  better  to  say  nothing  about  it  ;  Lady  Fergusson 
would  only  come  and  make  a  fuss  and  torment  him, 
so  I  troubled  you  instead  of  ringing  ;  but  1  do  not 
apologize.  You  would  willingly  help  him,  I  am 
sure." 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  but  what  a  responsibility  for 
you  ! " 

"  Oh,  I  understand  him,  and  I  often  see  the  doctor. 
Ah,  what  a  life !  what  suffering !  what  a  terrible 
nature  !  But  I  must  not  stay.  You,  you  were  pru- 
dent— that  is — pooh  !  I  am  foolish.  I  mean  to  say,  I 
am  glad  you  scarcely  appeared  to  know  me.  I  say 
nothing  of  myself  here  j  I  a.m  an  abstraction,  a 
machine,  a  companion  !  Good-by."  For  the  first 
time  she  held  out  her  hand  with  a  gracious,  queenly 
gesture.     Wilton  took  and  held  it. 

"One  moment,"  he  said,  quickly.  "  Shall  I  never 
have^nother  chance  of  a  word  with  you  in  the  free 
air?  Is  there  no  errand  to  Monkscleugh  that  may 
lead  to  a  rencontre  ?  " 

'•'  If  I  meet  you,"  she  said,  "  I  will  speak  to  you  ; 
but  it  is,  and  must  be,  a  mere  chance.     Follow  that 


86  RALPH  IVILTOiV'S  WEIRD 

corridor,  turn  to  the  left,  and  you  will  be  in  the  hall. 
Good-by."     She  was  gone. 

"  Well,  what  sort  of  fellow  is  this  cousin  of  yours  ? 
1  suppose  you  met  him  last  night  ?  I  never  thought 
we  should  tumble  into  the  trammels  of  polite  society 
when  I  recommended  these  shootings  to  you.  I  have 
scarcely  seen  you  the  last  ten  days.  What's  come  to 
you,  lad  ?  " 

So  growled  Moncrief  one  morning  as  he  smoked 
the  after-breakfast  cigar,  previous  to  turning  out  for  a 
run  with  the  "  Friarshire." 

"  Oh  !  St.  George  Wilton  is  rather  an  amusing  fel- 
low; he  is  tolerably  good-looking,  and  has  lots  of  small 
talk;  one  of  those  men  who  do  not  believe  much  in 
anything,  I  fancy,  except  self  and  self-interest,  but 
for  dear  self-sake  not  disposed  to  rub  other  people 
the  wrong  way.  He  is  a  favorite  with  the  ladies — 
cuts  me  out  with  the  fair  Helen," 

"  Hum  !  I  doubt  that.  I  do  not  think  you  would 
let  him  if  he  tried  ;  for  of  course  t/iafs  the  attraction 
to  Brosedale." 

"  Is  it  ?  "  returned  \A'ilton,  carelessly,  as  he  pre- 
pared a  cigar. 

"  Yes  ;  I  know  you  think  I  am  as  blind  as  a  mole, 
but  I  can  see  there  is  something  that  takes  you  to 
Brosedale.     It's  not   Sir  Peter,  though   he's  the  best 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  87 

of  the  lot.  It's  not  my  lady  \  and  it  cannot  be  that 
imi^  of  a  boy  you  are  so  fond  of  carrying  pictures  to — 
I  suppose  for  a  'ploy  to  get  into  the  interior,  though 
they  are  sweet  enough  upon  you  without  that;  so  it 
must  be  tliat  girl." 

"  Your  reasoning  is  so  admirable,"  returned  Wilton, 
laughing  good-humoredly,  "  that  I  should  like  to  hear 
a  little  more." 

"  Eh  !  "  said  the  major,  looking  up  at  him  curiously. 
"  Well,  my  lad,  I  am  only  anxious  for  your  own  sake. 
Helen  Saville  is  not  the  style  of  woman  Lord  St. 
George  would  like  ;  the  family  are  by  no  means  sajis 
reproche;  and — I  don't  fancy  her  myself." 

"  That  is  conclusive,"  replied  Wilton,  gravely. 
"  But  make  your  mind  easy  ;  I  am  not  going  to  marry 
Helen  Saville,  nor  do  I  think  she  expects  me  to 
do  so." 

"  What  she  expects,  God  knows,  but  there  is  some- 
thing not  all  square  about  you,  Wilton." 

"  My  dear  fellow,  do  you  want  me  to  call  you 
out?" 

"  You  must  just  go  your  own  way,  which,  no  doubt, 
you  would  in  any  case;  but  I  am  off  on  Monday  next 
to  pay  my  sister  a  visit.  I  have  put  her  off  from  time 
to  time,  but  I  must  go  now." 

"By  Jove,  I  shall  be  quite  desolate!  And  will 
you  not  return,  old  fellow  ?  " 


88  RALPH   IVILTOiVS  WEIRD. 

"  I  think  not.  At  any  rate,  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
come  north  again  till  near  Christmas  ;  and  I  hardly 
suppose  you  will  be  here  then." 

"  That  depends,"  said  Wilton,  thoughtfully. 

"  On  what .-'  "  asked  the  major,  quickly. 

"  Oh  I  the  sport — my  own  whims — the  general 
attractions  of  the  neighborhood." 

'  " the  attractions  of  the  neighborhood  !"  cried 

Moncrief,  profanely.  "  Why  do  you  not  make  up  to 
Lady  Mary  or  Lady  Susan  Mowbray  ?  They  are 
nice  girls  and  no  mistake  ;  just  the  very  thing  for  you. 
But  I  am  a  fool  to  trouble  myself  about  you  ;  only  I 
have  always  looked  after  you  since  you  joined.  How- 
ever, you  are  old  enough  to  take  care  of  yourself." 

"  Perhaps  I  ought  to  be,  at  any  rate  ;  and  although 
I  have  somehow  managed  to  '  rile  '  you,  I  have  never 
forgotten,  and  never  will  forget,  what  a  brick  you 
have  always  been." 

Major  Moncrief  growled  out  some  indistinct  words, 
and  went  to  the  window ;  Wilton  followed  him. 
"  You'll  scarcely  manage  a  run  to-day  ;"  he  said  ; 
"  the  ground  is  very  hard,  and,  if  I  am  not  much  mis- 
taken, there's  a  lot  of  snow  up  there,"  pointing  to  a 
dense  mass  of  heavy  drab  clouds  to  windward. 

"  No,"  returned  Moncrief,  uncertainly,  "  it  is  con- 
siderably milder  this  morning ;  besides,  the  wind  is 
too  high,  and  it  is  too  early  for  snow." 


RALPH  WILT  OX'S   WEIRD.  89 

"Not  in  these  latitudes  ;  and  it  has  been  deucedly 
cold  for  the  week  past." 

"  At  any  rate,  I  will  go  to  the  meet,"  said  Moncrief, 
leaving  the  room.     "  What  are  you  going  to  do  t  " 

"  I  shall  not  hunt  to-day  ;  I  am  going  over  to 
Monkscleugh." 

"  Hum  !  to  buy  toys  for  the  child  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Wilton,  laughing.  "  But  for  to-day  I 
am  safe :  Lady  Fergusson  and  her  fair  daughter, 
attended  by  our  diplomatic  cousin,  are  going  to 
Brantwood,  where  there  is  a  coming-of-age  ball,  or 
some  such  high-jinks.  They  politely  invited  me  to  be 
of  the  party  ;  but  I  resisted,  Moncrief— I  resisted  ! " 

"  Did  you,  by  George  !     That  puzzles  me." 

"  By  St,  George,  you  mean.  Why,  you  suspicious 
old  boy,  you  do  seem  not  satisfied  ;  and  yet  Helen 
Saville  will  be  away  three  or  four  days." 

"  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  can  make  you  out !  "  said  the 
major,  and  walked  away. 

Wilton  threw  himself  into  an  arm-chair  and  laughed 
aloud  ;  then  he  turned  very  grave,  and  thought  long 
and  deeply.  If  Moncrief  only  knew  where  the  real 
danger  lay,  and  what  it  was  !  How  was  it  that  he  had 
permitted  this  mere  whim,  half  curiosity,  half  compas- 
sion, to  grow  into  such  troublesome  proportions? 
He  knew  it  was  folly,  and  yet  he  could  not  resist ! 
He  had   always  felt  mterested  and  attracted  by  that 


90 


RALPH    JVILTOX'S    WEIRD. 


strange  girl  whose  mingled  coldness  and  sweetness 
charmed  and  wounded  him  ;  but  now,  since  he  had 
seen  her  oftener,  and  listened  to  her  voice,  and  heard 
the  sudden  but  rare  outbreaks  of  enthusiasm  and 
feeling  which  would  force  themselves  into  expression, 
as  if  in  spite  of  her  will,  he  was  conscious  that  his 
feelings  were  deepening  into  intense  passion  and 
tenderness. 

To  catch  a  sympathetic  look,  a  special  smile,  a 
little  word  to  himself  alone — such  were  the  nothings 
watched  for,  sought,  treasured,  remembered  by  our 
patrician  soldier.  The  vision  of  that  poor,  suffering 
boy  leaning  his  head  against  Ella  and  clasped  in  her 
arms,  seemed  indelibly  stamped  upon  his  brain.  It 
was  constantly  before  him.  though  he  fought  gallantly 
against  it. 

It  seemed  to  have  brought  about  a  crisis  of  feeling. 
Before  that,  though  touched,  interested,  curious,  he 
was  not  absorbed  ;  now,  reason  as  he  would,  resist  as 
he  would,  he  could  not  banish  the  desperate  longing 
to  be  in  that  boy's  place  just  for  once.  In  shorty 
Wilton  was  possessed  by  one  of  those  rare  but  real 
passions  which,  when  they  seize  upon  a  man  of  his 
age,  are  infinitely  more  powerful,  more  dangerous,  or, 
as  the  case  may  be,  more  noble,  than  when  they  par- 
take of  the  eager  effervescence  of  youth. 

And  what  was  to  be  the  end  thereof.' — so  he  asked 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


91 


himself  as,  starting  from  his  seat,  he  paced  the 
room. 

Ardently  as  he  felt,  he  could  not  but  acknowledge 
that  to  marry  a  girl,  not  only  in  a  position  little  more 
than  menial,  but  of  whose  antecedents  he  knew  abso- 
lutely nothing — who,  for  some  mysterious  reason,  did 
not  seem  to  have  a  friend  on  earth — was  a  piece  of 
folly  he  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  commit.  And  yet  to 
give  her  up — worse  still,  to  leave  her  for  some  demure 
curate,  some  enterprising  bagman  to  win,  perhaps  to 
trample  upon .''     Impossible! 

What  then  ?  It  must  not  be  asserted  that  the  pos- 
sibility of  some  tie  less  galling  and  oppressive  than 
matrimony  never  presented  itself  to  Ralph  Wilton's 
mind.  He  had  known  such  conditions  among  his 
friends,  and  some  (according  to  his  lax  but  not  alto- 
gether unpopular  opinions)  had  not  turned  out  so 
badly  for  any  of  the  parties  concerned  ;  but  in  this 
case  he  rejected  the  idea  as  simply  out  of  the  question. 
He  would  no  more  dare  breathe  it  to  that  obscure  little 
girl  than  to  a  princess.  It  would  be  hard  enough  to 
win  or  rouse  her  to  admit  him  as  a  lover,  even  on  the 
most  honorable  terms.  She  seemed  not  to  think  such 
things  existed  for  her.  There  was  in  her  such  a  curi- 
ous mixture  of  frankness  and  indifference,  coldness, 
sweetness,  all  flecked  with  sparks  of  occasional  fire, 
that  Wilton  could  not  help  believing  she   had  some 


92 


RALPH   WILTOX'S   IVElkD. 


uncommon  history ;  and  there  were  times  when  he 
felt  that,  if  he  but  asked  her,  she  would  tell  him 
everything  he  craved  to  know.  Never  had  he  met  a 
woman  (for,  young  as  she  was,  she  was  eminently 
womanly)  so  utterly  without  coquetry.  Her  perfect 
freedom  from  this  feminine  ingredient  was  almost 
insulting,  and  a  certain  instinct  warned  him  from 
attempting  to  break  through  the  invisible  barrier  which 
her  unconscious  simplicity  created.  Yet  all  this 
restraint  was  becoming  intolerable.  At  Brosedale  he 
never  saw  her  alone ;  out  of  it,  he  never  saw  her  at  afl. 
The  desire  to  know  all  about  her,  to  impress  her,  to 
win  her,  and  the  struggling  instinct  of  caste,  the  dread 
of  making  some  false  step  that  would  ruin  him  in  her 
estimatioii,  tormented  him  almost  into  a  fever. 

His  long  meditation  ended  in  his  ringing  sharply, 
and  ordering  round  the  dog-cart  to  drive  into  Monks- 
cleugh. 

"  It's  sure  to  snow,  sir,"  said  his  servant. 

"  Not  yet,  I  think.  At  any  rate,  I  shall  take  my 
chance." 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  half  aloud,  as  the  man  dis- 
appeared, "  I  must  make  the  attempt ;  and  if  I  meet 
her — why,  what  will  be,  will  be!"  With  this  pro- 
foundly philosophic  conclusion  he  proceeded  to  draw 
on  an  overcoat  and  prepare  for  his  cold  drive. 

The  previous  day,  Wilton  had  managed,  by  a  pro- 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  93 

found  stratagem,  to  procure  an  interview  with  Donald, 
and  for  his  pains  found  that  young  gentleman  fearfully 
cross  and  rude,  moreover  alone  :  but,  in  the  course  of 
their  short  conversation,  the  heir  of  Brosedale  con- 
fessed to  being  greatly  enraged  at  the  non-appearance 
of  some  fresh  drawing-materials  which  had  been  for- 
warded from  London,  and  of  which  no  tidings  could 
be  heard  ;  that  "  Dandy,"  his  special  pony,  was  ill  or 
disabled,  and  no  one  was  at  liberty  to  go  for  them  ; 
so  Ella  had  promised  to  walk  over  to  Monkscleugh 
the  next  morning. 

Of  course  Wilton  discovered  that  he,  too,  had 
"  urgent  private  afifairs  "  of  his  own  to  transact  in  the 
town,  and,  had  it  "  rained  elephants  and  rhinoceroses," 
he  would  have  persevered. 

It  was  a  still,  cold  morning.  The  bitter  wind  of 
the  day  before  had  fallen,  and  a  kind- of  expectant 
hush  pervaded  the  air.  The  man  who  stood  at  the 
horse's  head,  looked  round  him  with  a  very  dissatis- 
fied air,  not  seeing  the  necessity  for  driving  to 
Monkscleugh. 

However,  the  drive  there  was  accomplished  with- 
out any  encounter,  save  with  a  barefooted  lassie  on 
her  way  to  market.  At  first  Wilton  drove  slowly,  and 
then  fast,  and  before  they  had  reached  the  town  the 
snow  had  begun,  in  large,  slow  flakes.  In  spite  of  its 
increasing  density,  he  managed  to  call  at  the  saddler's 


94 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


■  and  the  corn-factor's,  and  twice  at  the  railway-station, 
but  all  in  vain  ;  so,  with  a  muttered  malediction  on  the 
weather,  which  had,  no  doubt,  defeated  the  object  of  his 
expedition,  he  turned  his  horse's  head  toward  home. 

"  It's  going  to  be  a  bad  fall,"  he  said  to  his  servant, 
as  they  proceeded  through  the  thickly-descending 
snow,  which  scarcely  permitted  them  to  see  a  yard 
right  or  left. 

"  It  is  so,  sir ;  and  I  wish  we  were  home,  or,  any- 
how, across  the  brae  there,  where  the  road  turns  to 
Brosedale." 

"  Do  you  think  we  will  lose  the  track  ?  " 

"  I'll  be  surprised  if  we  do  not,  sir." 

"  I  fancy  I  shall  be  able  to  make  it  out,"  returned 
Wilton,  and  drove  on  as  rapidly  as  he  could  in  silence. 
Suddenly  he  pulled  up.  "  Look,"  said  he,  "  there — 
to  the  right.  Do  you  not  see  something  like  a  figure 
— a  woman  ?.  " 

"  Faith,  it's  only  a  big  stone,  sir !  " 

"  No— it  moves  !— Hallo  !  "  shouted  Wilton.  "  I 
think  you  are  off  the  road." 

The  figure  stopped,  turned,  and  came  toward  them. 
Wilton  immediately  sprang  down  and  darted  forward, 
exclaiming,  "  Miss  Rivers  !  Good  God  !  what  weather 
for  you  !  How  fortunate  I  overtook  you. — Come,  let 
me  assist  you  to  reach  my  dog-cart.  You  must  be 
nearly  wet  through." 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


95 


She  put  her  hand  on  his  offered  arm.  "  It  Is  \w- 
deed  fortunate  you  came  up.  I  had  begun  to  feel 
bewildered."  Nevertheless  she  spoke  quite  calmly, 
and  accepted  his  aid  to  mount  the  dog-cart  with  per- 
fect composure.  As  Wilton  took  his  place  beside  her 
and  gathered  up  the  reins,  after  wrapping  his  plaid 
round  her,  he  made  up  his  mind  very  rapidly  not  to 
attempt  the  longer  and  more  open  route  to  Brosedale. 

He  drove  more  slowly,  taking  good  heed  of  the 
objects  he  could  make  out,  and,  to  his  great  joy,  re- 
cognized a  certain  stunted,  gnarled  oak,  to  the  right 
of  which  lay  Glenraven,  and,  having  passed  it,  some- 
what increased  his  speed. 

"  It  is  scarcely  wise  to  push  on  to  Brosedale  until 
this  heavy  fall  is  over.  Besides,  the  Lodge  is  much 
nearer,  and  you  ought  not  to  be  a  moment  longer 
than  you  can  help  in  these  wet  clothes.  I  am  afraid 
you  must  depend  on  the  resources  of  our  cook  for  dry 
garments." 

"  My  clothes  are  not  so  very  wet,  but  my  boots 
are.  I  wish  we  could  have  gone  on  to  Brosedale  ; 
but,  if  it  cannot  be,  I  will  not  trouble  you.  This  snow 
is  too  heavy  to  last  very  long." 

"  Pray  Heaven  it  may  !  "  said  Wilton  inwardly. 

Here  was  the  first  gleam  of  good  fortune  that  had 
visited  him.  Ella  was  to  be  all  alone  with  him  for 
two  or    three   hours.     Snow   or  no  snow,  he   would 


g6  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

manage  that,  at  all  events.  All  the  Brosedale  women 
away,  Moncrief  certain  to  be  storm-stayed  somewhere 
■ — what  a  glorious  chance  for  a  long,  confidential  talk, 
for  the  solving  of  many  doubts,  for  the  forging  of 
some -link  that  would  bind  this  wild,  free  bird  to  him  ! 
The  excessive  delight  and  exaltation  that  made  his 
heart  bound  roused  him  to  the  necessity  of  self-con- 
trol, and  he  swore  to  himself  that  not  a  word  or  a 
look  should  escape  him  to  offend  or  startle  his  prize. 

"  How  was  it  you  ventured  out  on  so  unpromising 
a  morning?"  he  asked,  as  they  proceeded,  stopping 
from  time  to  time  to  make  sure  of  the  road. 

"  Oh,  Donald  was  so  ravenous  to  get  a  parcel 
which  he  thought  must  be  mislaid  at  Monkscleugh, 
that  I  promised  to  go  over  for  it ;  and  you  know  I 
love  so  much  to  be  out.  Still  I  do  not  think  I  should 
have  attempted  it,  only  a  Mr.  Wilton,  who  was  going 
somewhere  in  the  phaeton,  offered  to  drive  me  to 
Monkscleugh.  I  thought  it  would  snow,  but  I  hoped 
to  get  back  before  it  began.  However,  I  was  over- 
taken ;  and  I  fancy  I  should  have  wandered  all  day 
had  you  not  found  me." 

"  I  thought  Wilton  was  going  with  Lady  Fergusson 
to  the  fete  at  Brantwood  ?  " 

"  He  was ;  but  he  was  to  take  up  some  one  on  the 

way." 

"He  is  a  relation  of  mine,"  said  Wilton,  feeling 


KALPH   WILTON'S   WEIRD. 


97 


marvellously  crossed  by  the  simple  fact  of  St.  George 
bavins;  discovered  the  hidden  treasure  as  well  as  him- 
self. 

"  I  suppose  so  ;  but  he  is  quite  unlike  you." 
It  would  be  hard  to  say,  logically,  why  this  com- 
forted Colonel  Wilton,  but  it  did. 

"  Hold  hard,  sir  ! "  cried  the  groom,  who  was 
standing  up  and  peering  ahead.  "You  will  be  right 
against  the  gate."  And  Wilton  found  he  was  at  home. 
Another  moment  and  he  pulled  up  at  the  door  of  the 
Lodge. 


98 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


CHAPTER  V. 

"QEND  Mrs.  McKollop  here,"  cried  Wilton, 
>^  hastily  and  imperiously,  to  Major  Moncrief's 
servant,  who  advanced  to  the  door.  "  One  of  the 
Brosedale  ladies  has  been  caught  in  the  snow,  and  is 
nearly  v/et  through." 

He  almost  lifted  Ella  from  the  dog-cart  as  he 
spoke,  and  led  her  into  the  Warm,  comfortable  hall. 
While  he  removed  the  plaid  that  wrapped  his  guest, 
the  astonished  Mrs.  McKollop  came  quickly  on  the 
scene. 

"Eh,  my  word  !  but  ye're  wet!"  she  exclaimed 
"  Come  wi'  me,  missee,  and  I'll  see  till  ye  ;  and  you'd 
be  the  better  of  a  drop  of  hot  toddy  yerse'f,  colonel." 

"Oh,  I  shall  be  all  right!  Just  look  to  Miss 
Rivers. — As  soon  as  you  have  got  rid  of  your  wet 
things  we  will  have  luncheon,"  he  added,  address- 
ing her.  She  bowed,  and  followed  the  portly  Mrs. 
McKollop. 

"I  hope  there  is  some  place  fit  to  take  a  lady 
into,"  said  Wilton  to  Major  Moncriefs  man,  on  whom 
the  domestic  arrangements  devolved,  for  he  was  barely 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  g^ 

acquainted  with  Mrs.  McKollop's  name.  This  impor- 
tant functionary  was  attached  to  Glenraven  Lodge, 
and  let  with  the  premises.  To  this  species  of  serfdom 
she  was  by  no  means  averse,  for  the  system  proved 
profitable,  and,  by  a  sort  of  mental  inversion,  she  had 
grown  to  regard  the  temporary  proprietors  as  her 
guests  and  vassals. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  believe  Mrs.  McKollop  keeps  the  top 
rooms  pretty  tidy." 

"  Well,  get  luncheon,  will  you  ?  I  hope  the  fire  is 
good."  So  saying,  Wilton  hastened  to  change  his 
own  damp  clothes,  and  don  a  black  velvet  shooting- 
jacket.  His  toilet  was  completed,  and  he  was  fully 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  the  dining-room  before  any 
one  appeared.  "  Go  and  let  ]\Iiss  Rivers  know  lunch- 
eon is  ready."  A  few  minutes  more,  and  the  door 
opened  to  admit  his  guest.  An  expression  of  demure 
fun  sparkled  in  her  eyes  as  she  came  in,  holding  up 
the  voluminous  drapery  of  Mrs.  McKollop's  best 
dress — a  strongly-pronounced  Mac-something  tartan, 
of  bright  red  and  green  and  yellow — which  was  evi- 
dently a  world  too  wide  for  her  slight  waist.  Above 
was  the  close-fitting  gray  jacke^  of  her  own  dress, 
which  had  been  saved  from  wet  by  her  water-proof. 

"  I  trust  you  have  been  made  tolerably  comfort- 
able ? "  said  Wilton,  placing  a  chair  for  her,  while  he 
glanced  with  much  satisfaction  at  the  fast  falling  snow. 


100  RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 

"  Your  house-keeper  has  been  so  good,"  she 
replied,  with  her  sweetest,  frankest  smile.  "  She 
exhausted  all  her  resources  to  supply  my  wants,  and, 
I  think,  would  fain  have  made  me  come  to  luncheon 
in  her  best  bonnet,  which  is  the  most  wonderful  thing 
you  ever  saw.  It  has  feathers,  and  flowers,  and  cur- 
rants in  it." 

"  I  suppose  carrots  and  turnips  would  be  too  much 
like  the  insignia  of  office.  But  you  must  be  exhausted. 
Pray  sit  down  and  have  some  luncheon." 

"Thank  you.     I  do  feel  rather  hungry." 

It  seemed  almost  incredible  to  be  sitting  tete-a-tcte 
with  Ella,  after  all  his  dreams  and  efforts  ;  but  even 
more  surprising  was  her  quiet,  unembarrassed  man- 
ner. Had  Wilton  been  her  grandfather,  she  could 
not  have  eaten  with  more  composure,  and,  it  must  be 
added,  zest,  showing  a  decided  preference  for  cold 
game  and  sweets. 

"Let  me  recommend  some  hot  wine-and-water," 
said  Wilton,  as  she  put  down  her  knife  and  fork,  after 
refusing  a  second  supply  of  grouse. 

"  Thank  you,  no.  I  never  take  wine  ;  but,  if  I 
might  ask  for  sonr:  '.hing  ?  " 

"  Certainly  ;  anything  within  the  resources  of  Glen- 
raven  and  Mrs.  McKollop." 

"  Then  may  I  have  a  cup  of  coffee  ?  " 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD.  iqi 

Wilton  immediatel}'  ordered  it ;  and,  when  it  came, 
his  guest  expressed  high  approval. 

"  Ah  !  your  people  have  learned  how  to  make  this 
in  France." 

"  From  Frenchmen,  at  any  rate.     That  was  one 
accomplisliment  our  servants  picked  up." 

"  The  cofifee  at  Brosedale  is  so  dead  ;  it  is  not  the 
least  like  coffee  !  This  reminds  me  of  Italy  and 
France," 

"  Then  you  have  been  a  good  deal  abroad  ?  " 

"  Nearly  all  my  life."  A  full  stop  ;  and  Wilton 
felt  he  had  led  up  neatly  to  the  story  of  her  past. 

"  As  you  will  take  nothing  more,  suppose  we  go 
into  the  next  room  ?  "     She  rose,  and  then  stopped. 

"  Oh  !  I  have  lost  Mrs.  McKoUop's  shoe  under  the 
table."     Wilton  laughed,  and  assisted  in  the  search. 

"  I  wish  we  had  anything  nearer  the  mark  to  offer 
you,"  he  said,  as  he  produced  a  huge,  broad-soled 
thick  shoe,  tied  on  the  instep.  "  They  must  fit  you 
like  snov/-shoes." 

"  There  is  a  good  deal  of  stocking  to  fill  up  with," 
she  replied,  as  she  managed  to  shuffle  into  the  room 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  hall,  which  was  somewhat 
more  ornamental  than  the  one  they  left.  Sundry 
sporting  prints,  a  deer's  head,  various  pipes,  and 
plenty  of  writing-materials,  with  a  splendid  fire,  and 


102  RALPH  IV JL  TON'S  WEIRD. 

several  comfortable  easy-chairs,  made  it  a  pleasant 
apartment. 

"  And  you  live  here  ? "  said  Ella  Rivers,  moving 
round  the  room  with  some  curiosity  ;  "  and  you  smoke 
very  good  cigars.     I  recognize  the  perfume." 

"  I  hope  it  is  not  very  disagreeable  ? " 

"Disagreeable?  Oh,  no!  I  love  it.  But  how 
it  snows  !  There  is  no  chance  of  my  getting  back 
till  it  abates." 

'■  Certainly  not,"  returned  Wilton,  cheerfully,  and 
adopting  her  easy,  friendly  tone.  "  So,  pray  sit  down 
near  the  fire,  and  permit  me  to  enjoy  the  fruit  of  my 
treasure-trove — I  mean,  a  little  talk  with  you." 

"  Yes — it  is  very  nice  to  talk  over  a  good  fire," 
she  said,  returning  slowly  from  the  window  and  seating 
herself  in  a  large  chair  ;  "  but  I  wish  it  would  clear." 

"  I  suppose  young  Fergusson  will  be  very  anxious 
about  you?"  remarked  Wilton,  taking  advantage  of 
her  steady  gaze  at  the  fire  to  study  the  graceful  outline 
of  her  head,  and  ear,  and  neck,  the  pale,  delicate  oval 
of  her  face.  There  was  a  wonderfully-patrician  look 
about  this  mysterious  girl ;  how  small  and  white  were 
the  hands  she  had  carelessly  clasped  upon  her  knee ! 
and,  simple  as  were  Iier  manners,  too,  they  were 
infinitely  more  refined  than  the  superb  Miss  Saville's  ; 
and,  at  all  events,  he  would  have  her  all  to  himself  for 
the  next  two  hours. 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  103 

"  Anxious  about  me  ? "  she  said,  after  a  moment's 
silence;  "  not  very.  He  will  be  anxious  about  his 
parcel  (which,  after  all,  I  did  not  get),  and  vexed 
at  my  absence.  But  Donald  is  a  strange  boy.  I 
know  him." 

"  He  must  be  an  ungrateful  young  dog,"  said 
Wilton,  carefully  averting  his  eyes  as  she  turned  to 
him.     "  You  are  so  good  to  him." 

"  It  is  not  what  you  would  call  grateful,  though  he 
is  very  fond  of  me — that  is,  I  have  become  a  neces- 
sity to  him  ;  then  he  knows  I  am  fond  of  him,  and  I 
believe  no  one  else  is,  not  even  his  father.  Poor, 
poor  fellow  !     Ah,  how  I  feel  for  him  !  " 

"  He  cannot  be  a  pleasant  companion." 

"  At  times  most  unpleasant ;  then,  again,  wonder- 
fully sympathetic,  and  so  dependent  that  /  feel  a 
great,  strong,  free  creature,  rich  in  youth,  and  health, 
and  strength,  all  grand  things  that  Sir  Peter's  gold 
cannot  buy,  and  I  can  do  anything  for  him.  Then  I 
forget  the  dark  side  of  my  own  lot,  and  only  see  the 
wealth  that  nature  has  given  me." 

"  You  are,  indeed,  wealthy  !  " 

"  In  some  ways,  yes  ;  in  others — "  She  stopped, 
shook  her  hf^ad,  with  a  smile,  half  sad,  halfmocking, 
and  resumed  her  gaze  at  the  fire. 

There  was  a  short  pause,  and  Wilton  said  : 

"  Still,  to  so  bold  a  spirit  as  yours,  it  must  be  im- 


104  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

prisonment,  indeed  ;  and  I  am  not  surprised  that  you 
seize  every  chance  of  momentary  relief.  But — forgive 
me  if  I  am  presumptuous — it  was  no  ordinary  courage 
that  would  take  you  so  far  afield  that  night  I  caught 
a  glimpse  of  you  retreating  in  the  moonlight — no 
ordinary  inducement  that  would  tempt  you  to  such  a 
distance." 

"  I  had  inducement  enough,"  she  returned,  with  a 
slight  sigh.  "  Donald  had  been  in  one  of  his  worst 
moods  all  day — one  of  his  mean,  suspicious  tempers, 
and  1  could  not  persuade  him  to  go  to  bed  till  late. 
Then,  I  opened  the  study  window,  and  looked  out  to 
breathe  and  grow  tranquil  before  I  tried  to  sleep 
then  the  memory  of  the  moonlight  nights  long  ago, 
when  I  used  to  sit  in  a  corner  by  the  window,  before 
the  lamp  was  brought,  and  listen  to  my  father  talking 
( rather  dreaming  aloud — oh,  so  gloriously  ! )  came 
over  me  with  a  wild,  irresistible  longing  to  be  out  in 
the  free  air,  alone  and  standing  upright  before  heaven, 
with  things  really  greater  than  myself  about  me — such 
an  intense  longing  that  I  sprang  down  the  steps  and 
away."  As  she  said  the  last  word  she  unclasped  her 
h.ndsand  threw  one  out  with  a  sudden,  expressive 
gesture  full  of  grace,  and  not  without  a  certain  dig- 
nity. "  But  I  suppose  to  you  it  seems  shocking  ^ " 
And  again  she  turned  to  the  fire. 

"  By    no    means  1 "    exclaimed    Wilton,    eagerly. 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


105 


"Pray  do  not  imagine  me  a  slave  to  'the  shocking.' 
What  you  do  seems  right  and  natural  in  you  to  an 
extraordinary  degree  ;  but  every  one  may  not  view 
matters  as  I  do,  and  I  confess  I  wished  to  escort  you 
back,  but  dared  not  intrude — besides,  I  was  not 
alone." 

"  Escort  me  back  !  "  she  replied,  with  a  low,  sweet 
laugh  of  genuine  merriment.  "  That  would  have  put 
a  climax  to  my  misdoings,  and  also  (pardon  the 
rudeness  destroyed  the  sense  of  freedom.  As  it  was, 
my  outbreak  was  severely  rebuked  by  Miss  Walker, 
who  was  informed  of  my  absence,  and  talked  yards 
of  sense  and  propriety  before  I  escaped  to  bed.  Ah, 
what  a  degrading  finale  to  a  moment's  outbreak  into 
light  and  liberty !  But  I  must  not  quarrel  with  Miss 
Walker.     She  is  '  Madonna  dell'  Esperanza,'  " 

There  was  a  wonderful  charm  in  her  voice  and 
manner,  a  curious  mixture  of  softness  and  daring. 

"  And  pray  why  do  you  dignify  that  iron-gray 
woman  with  so  romantic  a  title  .''  I  should  not  im- 
agine her  in  the  least  hopeful." 

'•  She  found  me  when  I  was  at  a  very  low  ebb,  and 
placed  me  with  Donald." 

"  Indeed !  Then  he  ought  to  consider  her  his 
'  Dame  de  bon  Secours.'  " 

"He  thinks  I  am  fortunate." 

"  And,  when  you  found  yourself  so  far  from  human 


Io6  RALPH  WILTON'S  PVEL'W. 

aid  that  night,  did  you  not  feel  uncomfortable?"  re- 
sumed Wilton,  hoping  to  lead  her  back  to  her  remi- 
niscences. 

"  Yes.  When  I  turned  to  go  back  the  fire  had 
nearly  burnt  out  in  my  heart ;  but,  you  see,  I  have 
never  been  with  women,  so  their  fears  are  not  mine. 
I  fear  what  they  may  think  of  me  when  I  act  differ- 
ently from  them." 

"I  suppose,  then,  you  have  numerous  brothers?" 

"  I  have  neither  brother  nor  sister.  My  father — " 
She  paused.  "Ah,  if  you  could  have  known  my 
father  !  He  was  a  great  politician,  a  great  philan- 
thropist, a  true  man ;  and  he  was  surrounded  by  men 
like  himself,  devoted  to  humanity.  They  were  all 
very  good  to  me — when  they  remembered  my  exist- 
ence, which  was  not  always,  you  know."  A  little 
arch  smile,  that  made  Wilton  burn  to  tell  her  how 
irresistibly  she  absorbed  his  mind,  heart,  imagina- 
tion ! 

"  Well,  your  father,"  said  he,  with  wonderful  com- 
posure, rising  as  he  spoke  to  arrange  the  fire — "your 
father,  I  presume,  adored  you  ?  " 

"Alas,  no !  "  There  was  great  forgiving  tender- 
ness in  her  voice.  "  He  perhaps  remembered  me 
least  of  all  ;  and  when  he  did,  I  brought  bitter 
thoughts.  My  mother,  whom  he  adored,  died  when  I 
was  born  ;  so  you  see  I  have  been  quite  alone.     Yet  I 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  107 

grew  to  be  of  importance  to  him  ;  for  just  before  he 
died  he  told  me  to  take  her  ring,  which  he  had  always 
worn,  and  wear  it  for  both   their  sakes.     See,  there 

U  IS. 

She  held  out  her  right  hand  to  show  where  it 
encircled  her  slender  third  finger. 

"  Then  you  lived  in  Italy  ?  "  said  Wilton,  to  lead 
her  on. 

"  Yes,  my  first  memories  are  of  Italy — a  great, 
half-ruined  villa  on  a  hill-side  near  Genoa  ;  and  my 
nurse,  a  Roman  woman,  with  such  grand,  black  eyes. 
I  used  to  love  to  look  into  them,  and  see  myself  in 
them.  How  she  loved  me  and  spoiled  me !  My 
father  must  have  had  money  then,  for  he  came  and 
went,  and  seemed  to  me  a  great -person  ;  but  I  feared 
him,  though  he  was  gentle  and  beautiful,  for  he 
shunned  me.  Oh,  yes,  how  noble  he  looked  !  None 
of  the  others  were  like  him  ;  and  he  was  English  on 
his  father's  side,  so  he  said,  when  he  told  me  to  keep 
the  name  of  Rivers  ;  but  we  had  many  names :  one 
in  Italy,  another  in  Paris,  another  in  Germany.  I  did 
not  like  Paris.  The  first  time  we  were  there  I  had  a 
gouvernante ;  she  taught  me  a  little  and  tormented  me 
much  ;  but  still  I  do  know  French  best.  I  can  write 
it  well ;  but,  though  I  speak  Italian  and  German^  I 
cannot  read  or  write  either." 

She  had   again   clasped  her  hands  over  her  knee, 


I08  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

and  went  on  softly  and   dreamingly,  as  if  to  herself. 
Wilton  still  keeping  silence,  and  gazing  intently  at  the 
speaker,  earnestly  hoping  nothing  would  interrupt  or 
turn  her  from  her  siooken  musing. 

"  But  you  evidently  learned  to  draw,"  he  suggested, 
softly. 

"  My  father  was  a  great  artist — would  have  been 
acknowledged  as  a  great  artist  had  he  not  been  grad- 
ually absorbed  in  schemes  for  raising  the  poor  and 
ignorant  and  oppressed,  for  giving  them  political  life. 
There  were  many  artists  among  our  friends,  and 
all  were  willing  to  teach  me  and  help  me.  To  draw 
seemed  to  me  as  natural  as  to  breathe,  and  if  I  ever 
had  a  moment  of  personal  ambition  it  was  to  be  a 
true,  a  recognized  artist ;  but  I  had  scarcely  any. 
You,  even  you,  patrician  Englishman  as  you  are  ! " 
turning  to  him  with  sudden  animation,  "  you  would 
have  admired  my  father.  He  was  my  ideal  of  a  true 
knight,  so  simple,  so  noble,  so  refined  ;  with  such  a 
deep,  fervent  faith  in  his  fellow-men.  Of  course,  he 
and  all  our  friends  were  hunted,  proscribed  ;  so  I 
never  knew  a  relation.  And  he,  my  father,  never 
could  bear  to  speak  of  my  mother ;  so  I  only  know  from 
her  picture  that  she  was  fair  and  sweet-looking." 

"  What  a  strange,  sad  life  for  a  girl !  "  said  Wilton, 
with  genuine  sympathy. 

"  Strange,  but  not  sad.     Oh,  no  !     I  was  ignorant 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


109 


(I  am  ignorant,  by  your  standard),  and  not  a  little 
neglected.  But  what  delight  it  was  to  listen  to  the 
men  my  father  knew,  to  hear  the  grand  schemes  they 
planned  ;  the  noble,  tender  pity  for  the  suffering  and 
oppressed  ;  the  real  brotherhood  they  acknowledged 
to  all  mankind,  and  the  zest  of  danger  ;  for  often  a  well- 
loved  comrade  was  missing,  and  some  never  returned. 
Imprisonment  in  Italy  or  Prussia  for  a  political  offence 
is  a  serious  matter. 

"The  first  time  I  ever  won  real  notice  from  my 
father  was  at  Naples.  There  was  a  man  we  loved 
much  ;  he  was  called  Diego — it  was  not  his  real  name. 
He  was  very  much  suspected  by  the  government.  My 
father  found  out  he  was  to  be  seized  that  day,  and  he 
knew  not  whom  to  trust  to  send  him  word  ;  so  I  begged 
to  be  honored  by  his  permission  to  carry  the  message, 
and  I  managed  it  all.  I  borrowed  a  costume  from  my 
maid's  niece ;  I  went  alone  on  the  Corso^  and  offered 
bunches  of  violets  to  every  one — oh  !  I  had  heaps  of 
panli — till  I  met  him  and  said  the  word,  which 
sufficed." 

"  You  did  this  ? "  cried  Wilton. 

"Yes;  I  had  but  thirteen  years  then.  Oh!  my 
father  always  noticed  me  after ;  and  I  would  have 
dared  much  for  that.  Then  we  were  in  London,  and 
in  many  places — w-e  grew  poorer  and  poorer.  I  think 
my  father  helped  the  cause  largely.     Two  years  ago 


no  RALPH   WILTON'S   WEIRD. 

we  were  in  Paris,  and  then  I  saw  my  father  was  dying. 
There  were  very  few  of  our  clique  there,  for  the  empe- 
ror's spies  were  legion.  I  did  not  stop  to  think  of 
fear  or  grief ;  I  only  wanted  to  keep  him  quiet  and 
content  to  the  last,  for,  you  see" — with  a  sort  of  e.xul- 
tation  very  touching — "  I  was  now  very  important  to 
him — he  thought  more  of  me,  and  I  have  always 
believed  it  was  in  the  hope  of  arranging  some  shelter, 
some  refuge,  for  me  that  he  came  to  London,  now 
more  than  two  years  ago.  Diego  came  to  see  us.  He 
had  a  long  talk  with  my  father,  who  said  to  him,  when 
he  was  going,  '  Do  your  best  for  her  sake  ! ' 

"  Two  days  after,  Diego  came  again,  and  demanded 
to  see  my  father  alone.  Presently  there  was  a  cry ; 
they  called  me,  and,  when  I  went  in,  my  father  lay  in 
Diego's  arms,  the  blood  streaming  from  his  mouth. 
He  died  two  days  after."  An  instant's  pause,  and 
she  resumed,  quickly :  ''  I  was  quite  alone,  and  had 
but  a  few  shillings.  Poor  Diego,  how  good  he  was  ! 
He  did  much  for  me.  My  father  had  a  diamond  ring  j 
they  sold  it,  and  so  things  were  paid  for.  Diego,  poor 
fellow  !  he  was  rich  then — he  had  five  gold-pieces — 
sovereigns.  He  left  me  two.  He  was  obliged  to  go 
away ;  he  promised  Mrs.  Kershaw  to  come  back  for 
me,  but  he  never  came.  He  is  no  doubt  imprisoned 
or  killed." 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD.  \\\ 

"  Who  was  Mrs.  Kershaw  ? "  asked  Wilton,  huskily  ; 
"  and  how  old  is  this  Diego  ?  " 

"Diego?     Oh,  fifty — sixty — I  am  not  sure.     Mrs. 

Kershaw  is  the   landlady  of  the  lodgings  where  my 

father  died;    Such  a  strange  woman  !    Not  unkind — at 

all  events,  to  me.     There   was  a  lady  in  the  rooms 

« 
above  ours  who  was  very  kind  to  me,  and  felt  for  me ; 

and  nearly  five  months  after  I  was  left  quite  alone. 
Miss  Walker  came  to  stay  with  this  lady,  and  so  they 
managed  to  have  me  engaged  as  companion  to  Donald. 
Ah,  it  was  all  so  wretched  !  Nothing  reconciled  me 
to  Brosedale  but  the  scenery — that  made  me  remem- 
ber there  was  a  world  of  life  and  beauty  beyond 
Donald's  study." 

She  stopped,  and  leaning  back,  pressed  both  hands 
over  her  face,  as  if  to  shut  out  the  present.  Wilton 
scarce  knew  how  to  speak  to  her  without  saying  too 
much.  He  had  sufficiently  delicate  instincts  to  feel 
that  he  must  not,  when  she  was  in  such  a  mood,  show, 
by  the  slightest  indication,  that  he  was  her  lover;  nay, 
his  deep  sympathy  made  him  for  the  moment  forget 
the  fair  woman  in  the  lonely,  suffering  girl. 

"  And  had  none  of  your  father's  friends  a  wife  or 
a  sister  with  whom  you  might  have  taken  shelter? 
Brosedale,  under  such  circumstances,  must  have  been 
a  real  inferno.'" 

"  No  \  I  have  met  one  or  two  ladies  abroad  con- 


112  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

nected  with  our  cause,  and  they  were  far  away.  But 
Brosedale  was  more  astonishing  than  anything  else. 
Miss  Walker,  who  likes  me,  although  I  shock  her 
every  hour  in  the  day,  warned  me  of  the  respect  I 
must  show  to  '  miladi '  and  her  daughters,  and  I  never 
dreamed  of  disrespect  toward  them  ;  but  they  were — 
they  are  so  strange  ;  they  are  so  ignorant;  they  belong 
to  the  middle  ages.  When  I  spoke  to  them  of  the 
scenery,  when  I  asked  them  questions  about  their 
country,  when  I  addressed  them  as  my  fellow  creatures, 
they  were  petrified — they  were  indignant;  they  went 
through  a  little  comedy  of  insulted  majesty,  very  droll, 
but  not  pleasant.  Then  I  began  to  know  what  it  is 
to  believe  that  you  are  made  of  different  clay  from 
certain  others  of  your  fellows.  Alas!  what  wide  gulfs 
still  yawn  between  man  and  man,  and  what  precious 
things  must  be  cast  in  before  they  are  filled  up !  " 

"Well,  and  Donald — how  did  you  get  on  with 
Donald?" 

"  He  was  inclined  to  treat  me  like  a  petted  ani- 
mal;  but,  no!  Per  Baccho!  that  should  not  be.  I 
said,  'If  you  are  good,  you  shall  call  me  Ella,  and  I 
will  call  you  Donald.'  He  replied,  '  I  am  Master 
Fergusson  ; '  and  I  said,  '  Not  so — it  is  too  long. 
Besides,  I  am  your  superior  in  age  and  in  knowledge, 
so  between  us  there  shall  be  kindness  and  freedom.' 
Now  I  mark  my  displeasure  by  calling  him  Master 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD.  113 

Fergusson.  Ah  !  how  astonished  were  Miss  Walker 
and  'miladi,'  but  I  laughed." 

"  I  am  surprised  he  can  bear  you  out  of  his  sight," 
exclaimed  Wilton,  warmly,  and  checked  himself;  but 
she  only  noticed  his  words. 

"  He  does  not  like  me  to  be  away.  I  am  often 
imprisoned  for  weeks.  Last  August  I  grew  weak  and 
languid;  so  Lady  Fergusson  gave  me  a  holiday.  I 
had  nowhere  to  go  but  to  Mrs.  Kershaw's;  then  she 
was  taken  ill — a  bad  fever — so  I  nursed  her,  thankful 
to  be  of  use.  Then  Donald  summoned  me  back, 
and  " — turning  with  the  peculiar  air  of  gracious  ac- 
knowledgment which  Wilton  had  before  noticed,  she 
added — "  it  was  on  my  journey  back  I  met  you.  Oh, 
how  weary  I  was  !  I  had  been  awake  night  after  night. 
I  was  stupefied  with  fatigue,  and  you  were  so  good. 
Could  Death  then  have  come  to  me  in  sleep,  I  should 
have  held  out  my  arms  to  him.  Yet  you  see  I  was 
terrified  at  the.  idea  of  being  hurt  or  torn  when  the 
train  was  overset." 

"You  behaved  like — like  an  angel,  or  rather  like 
a  true,  high-souled  woman," 

She  laughed  softly,  and  rising,  attempted  to  walk 
to  the  window. 

"  Ah  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  I  forgot  my  shoes  ;  " 
then,  resuming  her  seat,  went  on  :  "  There,  I  have  told 
you  all  my  life.  Why,  I  cannot  say  ;  but,  if  I  have 
8 


114 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 


wearied  you,  it  is  your  own  fault.  You  listened  as  if 
you  cared  to  hear,  while  to  me  it  has  been  sad,  yet 
sweet,  to  recall  the  past,  to  talk  of  my  father  to  one 
who  will  not  mock  at  his  opinions — his  dreams,  if  you 
will.  But,  ah  !  what  dreams  !  what  hopes  !  Thank 
God  !  he  lived  to  know  of  Garibaldi's  triumph — to  see 
the  papal  throne  tremble  at  the  upheaval  of  Italy ! 
These  glimpses  of  light  gladdened  him  at  the  last  ;  for 
never  was  Christian  martyr  upheld  by  faith  in  a  future 
world  more  steadfastly  than  my  father  by  his  belief  in 
the  political  regeneration  of  this  one.  Yet  I  have, 
perhaps,  forgotten  myself  in  speaking  so  much." 

She  turned  toward  Wilton  as  she  spoke,  and, 
placing  her  elbow  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  rested  her 
chin  in  the  palm  of  her  hand,  looking  at  him  with  the 
large,  deep-blue  eyes  which  had  so  struck  him  at  first,, 
her  long  lashes  wet  with  tear  drops,  of  which  she  was 
unconscious. 

"At  least,"  said  Wilton,  " you  must  feel  that  no 
speaker  ever  riveted  attention  more  than  you  have. 
As  for  the  accuracy  of  the  opinions  so  disinterestedly 
upheld,  I  neither  combat  nor  assent  to  them.  I  can 
only  think  of  you — so  young,  so  alone  ? " 

It  is  impossible  to  say  how  much  passionate 
sympathy  he  was  about  to  express,  when  a  sudden 
change  in  Ella  Rivers 's  face  made  him  stop  and  turn 
round.     To  his  infinite  annoyance  there  stood  Major 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  115 

Moncrief,  with  the  door  in  his  hand,  and  an  expression 
of  utter  blank  astonishment  on  his  countenance,  his 
coat  covered  with  fast-melting  snow,  and  evidently 
just  dismounted. 

"■  Hallo,  Moncrief  !  "  cried  Wilton,  his  everj'-day, 
sharp  senses  recalled  in  a  moment  by  this  sudden, 
unwelcome  apparition.  "  Wet  to  the  skin,  I  suppose, 
like  Miss  Rivers  " — a  wave  of  the  hand  toward  her — 
— "  and  myself.  I  most  fortunately  overtook  her  half- 
way from  Monkscleugh,  and  brought  her  here  for 
shelter." 

"Oh!"  ejaculated  Moncrief:  it  sounded  like  a 
groan. 

"  You  have  met  my  chum,  Major  Moncrief,  have 
you  not.  Miss  Rivers?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "  Yf  u  know  I  "am  always 
with  Donald." 

"  Oh,  ah,  I  see  !  "  muttered  Moncrief.  "  No,  I 
have  never  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  the  young 
lady  before  ;  and  so,  Wilton,  I  will  not  interrupt  you. 
I  will  go  and  change  my  clothes." 

"Interrupt!"  said  Ella,  as  he  left  the  room. 
"What  does  he  mean  by  interrupt  ?  Who  is  he  ? — 
your  uncle — your  guardian  ?  " 

"Do  you  think  I  require  a  guardian  at  my  age ?  " 
replied  Wilton,  laughing,  though  greatly  annoyed  at 
Moncriefs  tone. 


Il6  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"  How  old  are  you  ?  "  asked  Ella,  but  so  softly  and 
simply  that  the  question  did  not  seem  rude. 

"  Almost  four  and  thirty  ;  and,  en  revanche,  how 
old  are  you  ?  " 

"Almost  twenty." 

"  I  should  not  have  thought  you  so  much :  yet  there 
are  times  you  look  more.  However,  Moncrief  is  an 
old  brother-officer  of  mine  ;  really  a  friend,  but  a  queer 
fellow,  a  little  odd." 

"  I  see  ;  and  I  do  not  think  he  likes  me  to  be  here. 
Can  I  not  go  ? "  said  Ella,  starting  up  and  making  her 
way  to  the  window,  although  she  left  a  shoe  behind 
her  in  her  progress. 

"  Not  like  you  !  More  probably  fascinated  at  first 
sight,"  returned  Wilton,  attempting  to  laugh  off  the 
impression  she  had  received,  though  feeling  terribly 
annoyed  at  Moncrief's  manifestation.  "  And,  as  to 
returning,  you  cannot  stir  just  yet ;  the  snow  has  only 
just  cleared  off  and  may  recommence." 

"  Still  I  should  so  much  like  to  return  ;  and  I  am 
sure  I  could  manage  to  walk  very  well." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  be  oppressively  hospitable,  so  I 
will  leave  you  for  a  moment  to  inquire  what  will  be  the 
best  mode  of  reaching  Brosedale." 

So  saying,  he  quitted  the  room  and  followed  Major 
Moncrief. 

He  found  that  excellent  soldier   in  his  dressing- 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


117 


gown,  and  wearing  a  more  "gruesome"  expression 
than  could  be  accounted  for  b}'  his  occupation,  viz., 
sipping  some  scalding-hot  whiskey-and-water. 

"  Have  you  had  anything  to  eat  ?  "  asked  Wilton, 
amiably.  -  "  I  believe  luncheon  is  still  on  the  table." 

"  No,  it  is  not,"  replied  the  major,  curtly  ;  "  and  I 
do  not  want  anything.  I  had  a  crust  of  bread  and 
cheese  at  that  farmer's  below  the  mill,  so  you  can  go 
back  to  your  charming  guest." 

"  And  you  must  come  with  me,  Moncrief.  Never 
mind  the  dressing-gown,  man  ;  it  is  quite  becoming. 
You  frightened  Miss  Rivers,  you  looked  so  '  dour ' 
just  now.  I  want  her  to  see  what  a  pleasant  fellow 
you  can  be." 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  am  not  quite  such  a  muff  as  to 
spoil  a  tcte-a-tete" 

"  Come,  Moncrief,  you  know  that  is  bosh.  I  over- 
took Miss  Rivers  as  she  was  struggling  through  the 
snow,  and  I  do  not  suppose  you  or  any  other  man 
would  have  left  her  behind.  Then  I  couldn't  possibly 
pass  my  own  gate  in  such  a  storm  ;  besides,  the  poor 
girl  was  so  wet.  Be  that  as  it  may,  you  shall  not  be 
uncivil  ;  so  finish  your  grog,  and  come  along." 

"  Let  me  put  on  my  coat.  If  I  am  to  play  pro- 
priety, I  must  dress  accordingly.  How  in  the  name 
of  Fortune  did  you  come  to  know  this  Miss  Rivers  ? " 
growled  Moncrief. 


Il8  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"Why,  at  Brosedale,  of  course.  Whenever  they 
dragged  me  in  to  see  that  poor  boy  she  was  there,  and 
one  can't  be  uncivil  to  a  woman,  and  a  pretty  girl  to 
boot." 

"Pretty  !  "  ejaculated  the  major,  thrusting  himself 
with  unnecessary  vehemence  into  his  coat.  "  I  did 
not  see  much  prettiness  about  her ;  she  has  big  eyes, 
that's  all." 

"  Come  and  have  another  look  then,  and  perhaps 
you  will  find  it  out,"  said  Wilton,  pleasantly,  as  sorely 
against  his  will  Moncrief  followed  him  down  stairs. 

"I  have  much  pleasure  in  introducing  two  such 
admirable  representatives  of  two  great  opposing 
systems.  Major  Moncrief  is  conservative  among  con- 
servatives ;  Miss  Rivers  revolutionary  among  demo- 
crats !  "  said  Wilton. 

"  You  say  so  for  me  ;  I  myself  scarce  know  enough 
to  be  anything,"  she  replied,  in  a  low  tone,  turning 
from  the  window  at  which  she  was  standing  when  they 
entered,  acknowledging  the  introduction  and  Mon- 
crief's  "boo,"  as  he  would  have  called  it,  by  a  slight, 
haughty  courtesy,  which  even  Mrs.  McKoUop's  plaid 
dress  did  not  spoil,  as  she  spoke. 

"  A  young  lady  confessing  ignorance  on  any  sub- 
ject is  a  7-ata.  avis  nowadays,"  returned  Moncrief, 
gloomily. 

Ella  Rivers  looked  earnestly  at  him  as  he  spoke. 


RALPH    WILTON- S   WEIRD. 


119 


and  then  glanced,  with  a  sort  of  mute  appeal,  to  Wil- 
ton, who  felt  instinctively  that,  in  spite  of  her  com- 
posed, brave  air,  her  heart  v»'as  beating  with  sorrowful 
indignation  at  the  major's  unfriendly  aspect. 

"  You-must  know,  Miss  Rivers,"  said  Wilton,  with 
his  pleasantest  smile,  longing  all  the  time  to  fall  upon 
and  thrash  desperately  his  good  friend  and  comrade 
— "you  must  know  that  my  friend  Moncrief  is  the 
gloomy  ascetic  of  the  regiment,  always  available  for 
the  skeleton's  part  at  the  feast,  that  is,  the  mess,  a 
terror  to  lively  subs,  and  only  cheerful  when  some  one 
in  a  terrible  scrape  requires  his  help  to  get  out  of  it ; 
but  one  grows  accustomed  even  to  a  skeleton.  I  have 
been  shut  up  with  him  for  nearly  six  weeks,  and,  you 
see,  I  have  not  committed  suicide  yet;  but  he  is  a 
first-rate  old  Bones  after  all !  "  (slapping  the  ungenial 
major  on  the  shoulder). 

"Is  he  really  unhappy?"  asked  Ella,  with  such 
genuine  wonder  and  curiosity  that  the  "dour  "  major 
yielded  to  the  irresistible  influences,  and  burst  into  a 
gracious  laugh,  in  w-hich  Wilton  joined,  and  the  cloud 
which  Moncrief  brought  with  him  was  almost  dis- 
persed— not  quite,  for  Ella  was  changed  pale,  com-*- 
posed,  silent,  with  an  evidently  unconscious  drawing 
to  Wilton's  side,  that  did  not  help  to  steady  his  pulse 
or  cool  his  brain. 

"  It  is  quite  clear,"'  said  Miss  Rivers,  an.xiously  ; 


I20  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"  may  I  not  return  ?  for  in  another  hour  night  will 
close.     I  must  go!  " 

"  Certainly  ! "  cried  Wilton,  who  was  feeling  dread- 
fully bored  by  the  flagging  conversation  and  general 
restraint  of  Moncrief  s  presence  ;  "  your  dress  will  be 
dry  by  this  time,  and  while  you  put  it  on  I  will  order 
the  dog-cart.  I  will  drive  you  over  to  Brosedale  in 
half  an  hour,  snow  or  no  snow." 

"  You — drive  me — oh,  no  !  I  can  walk  quite  well , 
I  am  not  the  least  afraid.     Do  not  come  out  again." 

''  My  dear  Miss  Rivers  !  allow  you  to  walk  alone  ? 
Impossible  !  Even  this  stern  Bones,  this  incarnation 
of  inexorable  Fate,  would  not  demand  such  a  sacrifice. 
— Moncrief,  ring  the  bell ;  summon  Mrs.  McKollop 
from  the  vasty  deep  to  attend  our  fair  guest. — You 
must  know,  Miss  Rivers,  my  brother-in-arms  is  part 
proprietor  of  this  sylvan  lodge." 

"  Then  will  he  forgive  my  intrusion,"  said  their 
guest,  with  an  air  so  deprecating  as  to  a  man  of  his 
age,  so  certainly  dignified  as  to  herself,  yet  so  simple 
withal,  that  the  hidden  spring  of  chivalry  far  down  in 
the  man's  nature  was  struck  and  pushed  to  the  surface 
all  the  more  strongly  for  the  depth  of  the  boring. 

"You  must  think  me  'a  skeleton  of  the  feast,' 
indeed,  as  Wilton  has  been  good  enough  to  describe 
me,  if  I  were  not  ready  to  welcome  the  chance  visit  of 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  \2\ 

a  charming  young  lady  ;  I  am  not  quite  so  hopeless  an 
old  '  Bones'  as  you  both  make  out." 

"  Bravo ! "  cried  Wilton,  highly  pleased  at  his 
change  of  tone. 

"  Thank  you  !  "  said  Miss  Rivers,  simply  ;  and 
then  the  door  opened  to  admit  Mrs.  McKollop,  who 
wore  upon  her  arm  a  mass  of  drapery,  and  in  her 
hand  a  very  small  pair  of  boots,  evidently  the  garments 
she  had  been  drying. 

"  They  are  all  nice  an'  weel  aired-,  if  you  be  going," 
said  the  benign  ruler  of  the  roost.  "  It's  a  wee  bit 
clear  just  noo,  but  I'm  thinking  the  frost  is  coming  on, 
so  the  snaw  will  be  harder  by-an'-by  ;  an'  if  the  major 
don't  mind  having  dinner  an  hour  before  his  usual 
time,  a  drap  o'  hare  soup  and  a  cut  out  of  a  loin  o' 
mountain  mutton  will  warm  ye  up  weel.  an'  mak'  ye 
ready  for  the  road,"  or,  as  she  pronounced  it,  "  rod." 

"Mrs.  M'Kollop,  you  are  a  most  sensible  w'oman," 
said  Wilton,  gravely.  Moncrief  looked  alarmed  ;  and 
Miss  Rivers  merely  observed,  "  I  will  come  with  you," 
and  left  the  room,  accompanied  by  the  friendly  cook. 
Wilton  followed  immediately,  to  give  orders  about  the 
dog-cart,  and  Major  Moncrief  was  left  alone.  He 
walked  once  or  twice  up  and  down  the  room  with  a 
troubled  and  irate  expression  ;  he  then  stirred  the  fire 
viciously,  threw  down  the  poker  with  a  clang,  and, 
drawing  a  chair  close  up,  thrust  his  feet  almost  against 


122 


RALPH    WILTOX'S    WEIRD. 


the  bars.  How  long  he  sat  in  gloomy  reverie  he 
knew  not,  but  he  was  roused  by  the  entrance  of  Wil- 
ton, who  ushered  in  their  guest,  saying,  "  Miss  Rivers 
wants  to  say  good-by,  Moncrief." 

"  Yes,  good-by !  "  said  she,  in  her  soft  yet  clear 
voice,  which  always  seemed  to  fix  attention.  "  Thank 
you — thank  you  both  for  your  kind  hospitality." 

With  a  slight,  touching  hesitation  she  held  out  her 
hand,  and  Moncrief  took  it  with  much  politeness  and 
an  altered  expression. 

"  Good-by,  then,  as  you  will  not  stay  for  the  hare 
soup  and  a  cut  of  the  mountain  mutton.  I  hope  you 
will  not  take  cold.  Have  you  nothing  to  put  round 
your  throat  ?  You  must  have  this  muffler  of  mine,  if 
you  will  condescend  to  wear  it. — Jump  up,  Wilton.  I 
will  help  Miss  Rivers." 

So  spoke  the  Major,  in  his  joy  to  speed  the  parting 
guest.  "V\'ilton  obeyed,  somewhat  amused,  and  they 
started.  But  the  drive  was  a  silent  one  on  Miss 
Rivers's  side  ;  all  Wilton's  dexterous  observations  and 
thoughtful  care  could  not  win  a  look — scarce  a  word. 
"  Does  she  regret  she  opened  her  heart  to  me  ?  "  he 
thought  ;  and,  as  they  neared  the  great  house,  he 
could  not  refrain  from  saying,  "  I  shall  often  think  of 
the  interesting  sketch  you  have  given  me  of  your  wan-  . 
derings  iii  many  lands,  Miss  Rivers,  though  I  shall 
only  s.jcak  of  them  to  yourself" 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 


123 


"  Pra}',  pray,  put  it  all  out  of  your  mind  !  I  am 
half  ashamed  of  having  talked  so  much  of  myself. 
Think  no  more  of  it." 

"  Suppose  the  subject  will  not  be  banished  ?  I 
cannot.  At  least,"  resumed  Wilton,  after  a  moment's 
pause  to  tighten  the  reins  of  his  self-control,  "  I  shall 
look  upon  liberal  politics  with  a  new  light,  after  the 
glimpse  you  have  given  me  of  their  inner  life." 

"  li.^  when  you  have  power,  you  will  think  of  the 
people,  I  am  not  sorry  I  spoke."  She  said  it  very 
softly,  almost  sadly. 

"  I  shall  look  in  to-morrow,  to  know  if  you  are  all 
right,"  he  replied. 

They  had  now  reached  the  entrance.  Wilton 
sprang  down,  and,  as  Miss  Rivers  was  muffled  in 
plaids,  nearly  lifted  her  from  the  carriage,  though  with 
all  the  deference  he  would  have  shown  a  princess. 

"  Good-by  !     I  hope  you  will  not  be  the  worse." 

"  Adieu ! "  For  a  moment  she  raised  her  eyes 
to  his  with  a  frank,  kind  glance,  and  vanished  into 
the  house. 

For  a  moment  Wilton  hesitated,  then  mounted  the 
dog-cart,  and  drove  back  as  fast  as  circumstances  would 
allow.  He  was  conscious  of  an  angry,  uncomfortable 
sensation  toward  Moncrief — a  feeling  that  it  would  be 
a  great  relief  to  avoid  dining  with  him — of  a  curious, 
uneasy  strain  of  dissatisfaction  with  himself — with  the 


124 


RALPH  WILTOX'S  WEIRD. 


routine  of  life — with  everything  !  It  was  so  infernally 
stupid,  smoking  and  reading,  or  listening  to  Moncrief's 
prosings,  all  the  evening  ;  while  that  cranky,  tiresome 
boy,  Fergusson,  would  be  talked  to,  and  soothed,  and 
petted  by  Ella  Rivers.  And  she — would  she  wish  to 
be  back  at  Glenraven,  telling  the  story  of  her  simple 
yet  stirring  life  to  an  absorbed  listener  ?  Yes,  with- 
out a  shadow  of  conceit  he  might  certainly  conclude 
that  she  would  prefer  an  intelligent  companion  like 
himself  to  that  cross-grained  boy  ;  but  he  had  very  lit- 
tle to  nourish  conceit  upon  in  the  recollection  of  the 
delightful  t'te-d-tcte  he  had  enjoyed.  Never  before 
had  he  met  a  woman  so  free  from  the  indescribable 
consciousness  by  which  the  gentler  sex  acknowledge 
the  presence  of  the  stranger.  She  must  have  been 
much  in  the  society  of  men,  and  of  men,  too,  who 
were  not  lovers.  Yet  stop  !  How  much  of  her  com- 
posure and  frankness  was  due  to  the  fact  of  her  being 
already  wooed  and  promised  to  one  of  those  con- 
founded carbonari  fellows .''  The  very  idea  made 
Wilton  double-thong  his  leader — for  tandem  stages 
had  been  thought  necessary — to  the  infinite  surprise 
of  his  servant.  However,  he  reached  his  destination 
at  las'-,  and  as  he  threw  ofif  his  plai  1  in  the  hall  Mrs. 
McKollop's  broad  and  beaming  face  appeared  at 
a  side-door. 

"  A  wee),  sir,  din  ye  win  owcf  a'  right  to  Brosedale 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  125 

wi'  the  young  leddy  ?  I've  been  aye  watching  the 
weather;  for  I  don't  think  she  is  just  that  strong. 
Eh,  sir  !  but  she  is  a  bonnie  bird — sae  saft  and  kind  ! 
When  she  was  going,  after  I  had  red  up  her  things 
for  her,  she  says,  '  If  you  are  as  good  a  cook  as  you 
are  a  ladies'  maid,  I  am  sure  Major  Moncrief  must  be 
pleased  with  his  dinners,'  says  she  ;  an'  wi'  that  she 
takes  this  neckerchief  from  her  pretty  white  throat, 
and  says  she,  so  gentle  and  so  grand,  'Wear  this  for 
me,  Mrs.  McKollop,'  putting  it  round  my  neck  her 
ainsel'.  'Think,  whenever  ye  put  it  on,'  says  she, 
that  I  shall  always  remember  your  motherly  care.' 
The  bonnie  bird  !  I'm  thinking  she  has  nae  mither, 
or  they  wouldn't  let  her  be  worrit  wi'  that  ill-faured, 
ill-tempered  bairn  at  Brosedale." 

"  I  left  Miss  Rivers  quite  safe,  I  assure  you,  and, 
as  far  as  I  could  observe,  quite  well,  at  the  door." 
said  Wilton,  who  had  listened  with  much  attention  to 
this  long  speech,  looking  all  the  time  at  the  pretty 
violet  necktie  held  up  in  triumph  by  Mrs.  McKollop, 
and  conscious  of  a  boyish  but  strong  inclination  to 
purchase  it,  even  at  a  high  premium,  from  the  worthy 
house-keeper,  "  I  am  sure  you  did  your  best  for  our 
charming  visitor."' 

"That  I  did  ;  an'  I  tauld  her  that  it  was  a  pleasure 
to  cook  for  the  colonel  ;  for  though  she  spoke  of  the 
major,  it  was  aye  _)v?//  she  thocht  on." 


126  RALPH   WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"Oh,  nonsense!"  returned  Wilton,  good-humor- 
edly,  and  he  left  the  eloquent  Mrs.  McKoUop,  to  join 
the  moody  Moncrief,  with  whom  he  exchanged  but 
few  remarks,  till  dinner  thawed  them.  The  evenins: 
passed  much  as  usual,  but  neither  mentioned  their 
guest — a  fact  by  no  means  indicating  that  she  was 
forgotten  by  either. 


RALPH  WILTO.V'S  WEIRD. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

WILTON  was  true  to  his  intention,  and  rode 
over  the  next  day  to  make  the  promised 
inquiry,  when  he  had  the  pleasure  of  spending  half 
an  hour  with  Donald^  but  Ella  Rivers  never  appeared. 
The  boy  was  in  one  of  his  better  moods,  although 
that  was  a  poor  consolation. 

"  I  thought  Ella  was  never  coming  back  yester- 
day," he  said,  in  his  plaintive,  querulous  voice.  "  I 
could  not  make  out  whether  she  had  been  lost  in  the 
snow,  or  whether  your  cousin,  that  Mr.  St.  George 
Wilton,  had  run  away  with  her.  Oh  !  I  had  such  a 
miserable  day  ! — Miss  Walker  fussing  in  and  out,  and 
no  one  able  to  do  anything  for  me  !  Where  did  you 
pick  up  Ella?" 

"  On  that  piece  of  common  half-way  to  Monks- 
cleugh  ;  and  it  is  very  fortunate  I  did  so,  or  perhaps 
you  might  have  been  obliged  to  do  without  her  for 
some  time  longer.  I  fear  she  would  have  lost  her 
way  altogether." 

"  Oh,  she  knows  the  country,  and  has  plenty  of 
pluck." 


128  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"  Still,  she  might  have  been  wandering  about  for 
hours,  and  I  fancy  she  is  not  over  strong." 

"  She  is  well  enou^^h  !  Every  one  is  well  enough 
but  me  !  " 

"  I  suppose/'  said  Wilton,  to  change  the  subject, 
"the  rest  of  your  party  return  to-morrow?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  they  do  !  I  wish  they  would  stay 
away  I  They  have  taken  me  up  disgustingly  since 
you  came  to  see  me.  I  was  much  happier  alone  with 
Ella  !  I  don't  mind  your  coming — you  are  not  a 
humbug  ;  but  I  hate  Helen,  she  is  so  insolent ;  and  that 
cousin  of  yours  is  detestable.  He  is  so  conceited — so 
ready  to  make  allowance  for  everyone.  And  then  he 
always  speaks  Italian  to  Ella,  and  worries  her ;  I 
know  he  does,  though  she  will  not  tell  me  what  he 
says." 

The  boy's  words  struck  an  extraordinary  pang  to 
Wilton's  heart.  Had  Ella  met  this  diplomatic  sprig 
in  Italy?  Had  he  the  enormous  advantage  of  having 
known  her  and  her  father  in  their  old  free  wandering 
days  ?  If  so,  why  had  she  not  mentioned  him  ?  The 
irrepressible  answer  to  this  sprang  up  with  the  query 
— whatever  her  antecedents,  Ella  spoke  out  of  the 
depths  of  a  true  soul. 

"Well,"  exclaimed  Wilton,  while  these  thoughts 
revolved  themselves,  "  if  you  do  not  like  him,  do  not 


RALPH  WILTON'S  IVEIRD.  129 

let  him  come  in  here.  But  I  thought  he  was  a  uni- 
versal genius,  and  an  utterly  fascinating  fellow  !  " 

"  The  women  think  so,"  returned  young  Fergus- 
son,  with  an  air  of  superior  wisdom,  "  but  I  think 
him  a  nuisance.  'W'ill  you  ring  the  bell,  Colonel 
Wilton  ? " 

"  What  has  become  of  Miss  Rivers  ?  "  to  the  ser- 
vant, who  quickly  appeared.  "Tell  her  to  come 
here." 

Though  disposed  to  quarrel  with  the  terms  of  the 
message,  Wilton  awaited  the  result  with  some  anxiety. 
The  reply  was,  "  Miss  Walker's  compliments  ;  Miss 
Rivers  was  hearing  Miss  Isabel  read  Italian,  and  she 
could  not  come  just  yet." 

"  It  is  infamous !  "  exclaimed  Donald,  working 
himself  into  a  fury.  "  They  all  take  her  from  me — 
they  don't  care  what  becomes  of  me!  Give  me  my 
crutches,  James.  I  will  go  to  the  school-room  myself  j 
so  I  shall  say  good  by  to  you,  Colonel." 

He  dragged  himself  out  of  the  room  with  surpris- 
ing rapidit}',  and  Wilton  felt  he  must  not  stay. 

The  rest  of  the  day  was  rendered  restless  and 
uncomfortable  by  Donald's  words.  But  Wilton, 
though  of  a  passionate  and  eager  nature,  had  also  a 
strong  will,  and  was  too  reasonable  not  to  determine 
resolutely  to  banish  the  tyrannic  idea  which  had  taken 
such  possession  of  his  heart  or  imagination.  He 
9 


130  RALril  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

noticedj  with  mingled  resentment  and  amusement, 
the  sudden  silence  and  reserve  of  his  friend  Moncrief 
on  the  subject  of  Brosedale  and  its  inhabitants. 
What  an  absurd,  strait-laced  old  Puritan  he  was 
growing !  Wilton  felt  it  would  be  a  relief  when  he 
departed  to  pay  his  promised  visit  in  the  South.  So, 
as  the  weather,  after  the  memorable  snow-storm, 
moderated,  and  proved  favorable  for  sport,  hunting 
and  shooting  were  resumed  with  redoubled  vigor,  and 
the  Major's  solemn  looks  gradually  cleared  up. 

"  I  shall  be  rather  in  the  blues  here  when  you  are 
gone,"  said  Wilton,  as  they  sat  together  the  evening 
before  the  Major  was  to  leave.  "  You  have  not  been 
the  liveliest  companion  in  the  world  of  late,  still  I 
shall  miss  ybu,  old  boy." 

The  Major  gave  an  inarticulate  grunt,  without 
removing  his  cigar  from  his  lips. 

"So,"  continued  Wilton,   "as     Lord   D asks 

me  over  to  dine  and  stay  a  few  days  while  General 
Loftus  and  another  Crimean  man  are  there,  I  shall 
go;  and  perhaps  I  may  look  up  the  15th  afterwards  ; 
they  are  quartered  at  C ." 

"Do!"  said  the  Major,  emphatically,  and  with 
unusual  animation.  "  There's  nothing  more  mis- 
chievous than  moping  along  and  getting  into  tlie  blue 
devils  ! — nothing  more  likely  to  drive  a  man  to  sui- 
cide  or   matrimony,   or  some   infernal  entanglement 


EALril    WILTON'S    WEIRD.  irj 


J 


even  worse  !     Go  over  to  D Castle  by  all  means 

— go  and  have  a  jolly  week  or  two  with  the  15th; 
and,  if  you  will  take  my  advice,  do  not  return  here." 

"  My  dear  Moncrief,"  interrupted  Wilton  coolly, 
for  he  was  a  little  nettled  at  the  rapid  disposal  of  his 
time,  "wliy  should  I  not  return  here  ?  AVhat  mischief 
do  you  fear  for  me  ?  Don't  turn  enigmatical  at  this 
time  of  day." 

"  What  mischief  do  I  fear  ?  The  worst  of  all — a 
fair  piece  of  mischief!  Not  so  pretty,  perhaps,  but 
'devilish  atthractive,'  as  poor  O'Connor  used  to  say." 

Wilton  was  silent  a  moment,  to  keep  his  temper 
quiet.  He  felt  unspeakably  annoyed.  Anything  less 
direct  he  could  have  laughed  off  or  put  aside,  but  to 
touch  upon  such  a  subject  in  earnest  galled  him  to 
the  quick.  To  be  suspected  of  any  serious  feeling 
toward  Ella  necessitated  either  appearing  an  idiot 
in  the  eyes  of  a  man  like  Moncrief — an  idiot  capable 
of  throwing  away  his  future  for  the  sake  of  a  freak  of 
passion- — or  as  entertaining  designs  more  suited  to 
worldly  wisdom,  yet  which  it  maddened  him  to  think 
any  man  dared  to  associate  with  a  creature  that  some- 
how or  other  had  managed  to  establish  herself  upon 
a  pedestal,  such  as  no  other  woman  had  ever  occu- 
pied, in  his  imagination. 

"I  think,"  said  he  at  last— and  Moncrief  was 
struck  by  the  stern  resentment  in  his  tone — "  I  think 


132  RALPH  WILTON'S  U'lHRD. 

that  too  much  shooting  has  made  you  mad  !  What, 
in  the  name  of.  Heaven,  are  you  talking  of?  Do  you 
think  I  am  the  same  unlicked  cub  you  took  in  hand 
twelve  or  fourteen  years  ago?  If  you  and  I  are  to  be 
friends,  let  me  find  my  own  road  through  the  jungle 
of  life." 

"All  right,"  said  the  Major,  philosophically.  "  Go 
your  own  way.     I  wash  my  hands  of  you." 

"It  is  your  best  plan,"  returned  Wilton,  dryly; 
and  the  evening  passed  rather  heavily. 

The  next  morning  Major  Moncrief  took  leave  of 
his  friend.  They  parted  with  perfect  cordiality,  and 
Wilton  drove  him  over  to  Monkscleugh, 

It  is  by  no  means  clear  that  the  Major's  well- 
meant  warning  did  the  least  good.  The  vexation  it 
caused  helped  to  keep  the  subject  working  in  Wil- 
ton's mind.  Certain  it  was,  that  after  returning  from 
Monkscleugh  and  writing  two  or  three  letters,  he  took 
advantage  of  a  fine  wintry  afternoon  to  stroll  leisurely 
to  the  brae  before  mentioned,  and  beyond  it,  to  the 
piece  of  border  ground  between  the  Brosedale  planta-  -. 
tions  and  tlic  road,  where  he  had  held  his  horse  for 
Ella  Rivers  to  sketch  ;  but  all  was  silent  and  deserted, 
so  he  returned  to  dress  and  drive  overdo  1) Castle, 

It  was  a  pleasant  party,  and  \\'iUon  was  a  most 
agreeable  addition.  He  felt  at  home  and  at  ease 
with  tlic  Earl's  kmdly,  well-bred  daughters;  and  per- 


RALril  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


133 


haps  they  would  have  been  a  little  surprised,  could 
they  have  read  his  thoughts,  to  find  tfeat  he  classed 
them  as  unaffected  gentlewomen  almost  equal  to  the 
humble  companion  of  Sir  Peter  Fergusson's  crippled 
boy. 

Parties  like  this,  of  which  Ralph  Wilton  formed 
one,  are  so  much  alike  that  it  is  unnecessary  to  de- 
scribe the  routine.  The  third  day  of  his  visit  the 
Brosedale  family  came  to  dinner,  and  with  them  St. 
George  Wilton.     Notwithstanding  Sir  Peter's  wealth 

and  Lady  Fergusson's  fashion,  invitations  to  D 

Castle  were  few  and  far  between  ;  nor  did  Ralph 
Wilton's  position  as  a  visitor  in  the  house — a  favored, 
honored  guest — seem  of  small  importance  in  Helen 
Saville's  eyes. 

Wilton  took  her  down  to  dinner,  with  a  sort  of 
friendly  glow  pervading  his  manner,  well  calculated  to 
deceive  the  object  of  his  attentions.  He  was  dimly 
aware  that,  after  all  his  reasoning,  all  his  struggles  for 
self-control,  his  dominant  idea  was  that  if  Miss  Saville 
was  not  the  rose,  she  lived  with  her. 

"  I  have  never  seen  you  since  the  coming  of  age  at 
Brantwood  ;  you  have  been  out  when  I  called,  and  in 
when  I  rode  about  in  search  of  you — in  short,  you 
have  scarce  cast  me  a  crumb  of  notice  since  my  poly- 
glot cousin  has  taken  up  the  running  and  left  me  no- 
where," said  Wilton,  under  the  general  buzz  of  talk, 


134 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 


while  the  chief  butler  whispered  a  confidential  query 
as  to  whether  he  would  have  hock  or  champagne. 

"  If  you  will  not  come  in  search  of  the  crumbs,  you 
cannot  expect  to  get  them,"  said  Miss  Saville,  looking 
boldly  into  his  eyes  with  a  smile.  "Mamma  asked 
you  to  dinner  the  day  after  our  return,  but  in  vain," 

"  Ah  !  that  day  I  knew  we  were  to  hunt   with  the 

,   and  I  feared  I  should    not  be  able   to    reach 

Brosedale  in  time  for  dinner.  Now,  tell  me,  how  is 
everyone?  Your  sister — I  mean  tlie  school-room  one 
— I  see  my  opposite  neighbor  is  flourishing.  How  is 
young  Fergusson  ?  " 

"  Isabel  has  a  cold  ;  but  Donald  has  been  wonder- 
fully well.  I  think  we  cheer  him  up!  Benevolence 
seems  to  run  in  your  family,  Colonel  Wilton.  You  set 
the  example,  and  Mr.  St.  George  Wilton  followed  it 
up.  Now,  we  are  so  anxious  to  amuse  Donald  that 
we  congregate  on  wet,  stormy  mornings  or  afternoons 
in  his  room,  and  try  to  draw — are  fearfully  snubbed 
by  the  young  heir!  and  silently  endured  by  his  little 
companion,  who  is  such  a  strange  girl  !  By  the  way 
your  cousin  seems  to  have  known  some  of  her  clique 
abroad.  He  says  they  were  a  dreadful  set  of  commu- 
nists and  freethinkers." 

"  Indeed,"  he  returned  carelessly,  as  he  raised  his 
glass  to  his  lips  and  made  a  mental  note  of  tlic  in- 
formation.    "  And,  pray,   how    much  longer   do  you 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  135 

intend  to  foster  my  delightful  relative  in  the  genial 
warmth  of  Brosedale?" 

"  As  long  as  he  likes  to  stay  ;  but  he  talks  of 
leaving  next  week." 

"Ah  !  he  finds  it  dilBcult  to  tear  himself  away  ?" 

"  That  I  know  nothing  about.  How  long  do  you 
remain  here  ? " 

"  Till  the  day  after  to-morrow." 

"Then  you  had  better  dine  with  us  on  the  twen- 
tieth. I  know  mamma  intends  to  ask  you.  The 
Brantwood  party  are  to  be  with  us,  and  some  people 
we  met  at  Scarborough  last  autumn." 

"  Of  course  I  shall  be  most  happy." 

Now  there  was  nothing  Wilton  hated  more  than 
dining  at  Brosedale  ;  the  artificial  tone  of  the  house 
was  detestable,  and  he  was  always  tantalized  by 
knowing  that  although  under  the  same  roof  with  Ella, 
he  had  not  the  least  chance  of  seeing  her;  neverthe- 
less, he  was  impelled  to  go  by  a  vague,  unreasonable 
hope  that  some  chance  might  bring  about  a  meeting; 
aud  now  as  he  had  absolutely  written  to  his  old 
friends  of  the  15th  to  say  he  would  be  with  them  the 
ensuing  week,  he  felt  ravenously  eager  to  encounter 
the  very  danger  from  which  he  had  determined  to  fly. 
But  Helen  Saville's  hint  had  filled  him  with  curiosity 
and  uneasiness.  It  was  as  he  feared.  St.  George 
Wilton  and  Ella  Rivers  had  doubtless   many  expcri- 


136 


RALPH   WILTON'S  WLLIRD. 


ences  in  common  which  both  might  prefer  talking 
about  in  a  tongue  unfamiliar  to  the  rest  of  the  audi- 
ence, for  he  d'd  not,  of  course,  attach  any  value  to 
Donald's  remark  that  Ella  did  not  like  the  clever 
attache.  Why  should  she  not  like  him  ?  He  looked 
across  the  table  and  studied  his  kinsman's  face  very 
carefully  while  Ellen   Saville   told  him   of  a  run  she 

had  enjoyed  with   the shire  hounds  while  staying 

at  Brantwood. 

St.  George  Wilton  was  occupied  in  the  agreeable 
task  of  entertaining  Lady  Mary  Mowbray,  so  his 
cousin  could  observe  him  with  impunity.  He  was  a 
slight,  delicate-looking  man,  with  high,  aristocratic 
features,  pale,  with  fair  hair  and  light  eyes,  thin- 
lipped,  and  nominally  near-sighted,  which  entitled 
him  to  use  a  glass.  He  wore  the  neatest  possible 
moustaches  and  imperial,  and  when  he  smiled,  which 
was  not  often  (though  his  face  was  always  set  in  an 
amiable  key),  he  showed  a  row  of  very  regular  white 
teeth,  but  rather  too  pointed  withal,  especially  the 
molars,  which  were  slightly  longer  than  the  rest, 
and  gave  a  somewhat  wolfish,  fang-like  expression  to 
that  otherwise  bland  performance.  His  voice  was 
carefully  modulated,  his  accent  refined,  and  his  ease 
of  manner  the  perfection  of  art.  St.  George  Willon, 
an  ambitious  poor  gentleman,  determined  to  push 
his  way  upwards  and  onwards,  had  no  doubt  sufficient 


RALPH  IVILTO.X'S   WEIRD.  137 

experience  to  sharpen  and  harden  his  faculties.  The 
struggle  of  such  a  career  ought  to  be,  and  is  invig- 
orating; but  there  are  ingredients  which  turn  this 
tonic  to  poison — the  greed  for  wealth  and  rank,  the 
hunger  for  self-indulgence  and  distinction,  the  care- 
fully-hidden envy  that  attributes  the  success  of  others 
to  mere  good-luck,  and  curses  blind  fortune  while 
congratulating  the  competitor  who  has  shot  ahead 
— the  gradually  increasing  tendency  to  regard  all 
fellow  creatures  as  stepping  stones  or  obstacles— the 
ever-growing,  devouring  self  which,  after  rejecting 
every  joy  that  gladdens  by  reciprocity,  slowly  starves 
to  death  in  the  Sahara  of  its  own  creation. 

Although  the  cousins  had  seldom  met  before,  they 
had  heard  of  each  other,  forming  their  respective  esti- 
mates from  their  special  standpoints — St.  George 
heartily  despising  Ralph,  as  a  mere  stupid,  honest, 
pig-headed  soldier,  whose  luck  in  coming  somewhat 
to  the  front  was  a  disgrace  even  to  the  whims  of  that 
feminine  deity.  Fortune,  How  such  rapid  promotion 
could  be  brought  about  without  finesse,  without  tact, 
without  anything  more  extraordinary  than  simple  duty 
doing,  was  beyond  the  peculiar  construction  of  St. 
George's  mind  to  conceive.  While  Ralph  scarcely 
bestowed  any  consideration  whatever  on  his  kinsman 
— he  had  heard  of  him  as  a  clever,  rising  man,  and 
also  as  a  "keen  hand  ;"  but  now  he   had  acquired  a 


138  RALril    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 

sudden  importance  \  and  Ralph,  as  he  gazed  at  the 
bland  countenance  opposite,  and  traced  the  hard  lines 
under  its  set  expression,  laughed  inwardly  at  the 
notion  of  extracting  any  information  which  St.  George 
was  disinclined  to  give. 

Nevertheless,  when  they  joined  the  ladies,  Wilton 
approached  his  cousin,  and  opened  the  conversation 
by  inquiring  for  a  mutual  acquaintance,  one  of  St. 
George's  brother  attaches ;  this  naturally  led  to  other 
topics,  and  their  talk  flowed  easily  enough.  '''I  am 
told  you  were  received  by  our  eccentric  relative,  Lord 
St.  George,"  said  his  namesake,  at  lastj  "rather  an 
unusual  event  for  him  to  see  any  one,  I  believe?  " 

"  Yes  \  he  sent  for  me,  or  I  should  never  have 
thought  of  presenting  myself.  He  looks  very  old  and 
worn — and  not  particularly  amiable." 

"Well,  he  has  had  enough  to  sour  him.  How  did 
he  receive  you  'i  " 

"With  tolerable  civilitv." 

"  He  would  not  let  me  in  !  I  wonder  what  he  will 
do  with  all  his  property,  li  he  dies  intestate,  I  sup- 
pose you  will  inherit  everything?" 

"I  suppose  so  ;  but  I  strongly  suspect  he  will  not 
leave  me  a  soil  I  am  not  pliant  enough  ;  and  that 
unfortunate  daughter  of  his  may  have  left  children  to 
inherit,  after  all.     I  fancy  I  heard  she  was  dead." 

"So  have  I,"  said  St.  George.  "Who  did  she 
marry  ?" 


RALPH    WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


139 


"I  believe  a  Spaniard — an  adventurer,  with  fine 
eyes  and  a  splendid  voice ;  I  forget  the  name.  Old 
Colonel  du  Cane,  who  was  about  town  in  those  days, 
remembers  the  affair  and  the  scandal,  but  the  whole 
thing  is  fprgotten  now.  I  wonder  old  St.  George  did 
not  marry  and  cut  out  every  one." 

"  Unless  he  makes  a  very  distinct  will,  you  will 
have  to  spend  a  large  slice  of  your  fortune  in  defeat- 
ing the  pretenders  who  are  sure  to  spring  up." 

"Or  you  will,"  returned  Wilton,  laughing-  "for 
he  is  as  likely  to  leave  it  to  one  as  the  other,  or  to 
some  charity." 

"To  some  charity?  That  is  surely  the  last  of 
improbabilities." 

"  It  is  impdssible  to  say,"  returned  Wilton  ;  and 
there  was  a  short  pause,  during  which  he  revolved 
rapidly  in  his  own  mind  how  he  could  best  approach 
the  topic  uppermost  in  his  mind.  "  How  long  do  you 
stay  at  Brosedale  ? "  he  resumed  abruptly,  as  St. 
George  looked  round,  as  if  about  to  move  away. 

'*  Perhaps  a  week  longer.  I  have  already  paid  a 
visitation,  but  the  house  is  comfortable,  the  girls  agree- 
able, and  iho.  padro/n:  unobtrusive." 

"  If  you  had  not  been  in  such  luxurious  quarters, 
and  enjoying  such  excellent  sport,  I  should  have 
asked  you  to  try  a  day  or  two  on  the  moor  I  have  at 
Glenraven." 


140 


RALPH    WILTON'S'    WEIRD. 


"  Thank  you  ;  I  should  have  been  most  happy,  but 
am  engaged  to  Lord  Parch  mount  after  the  twenty- 
fifth;' 

"  Did  you  ever  meet  any  of  Lady  Fergusson's 
people,  the  Savilles  she  is  so  fond  of  talking  about ; 
I  fancy  there  was  a  brother  of  hers  in  the  — th 
Hussars?  " 

"  A  brother  of  her  former  husband's,  you  mean, 
I  don't  believe  Lady  Fergusson  ever  had  a  brother  or 
a  father,  or  any  blood  tie  of  any  kind,  but  sprang  up 
full-blown,  lovely,  ambitious,  aristocratic,  at  the  touch 
of  some  magic  wand  ;  or,  to  come  to  a  commonplace 
simile,  in  a  single  nights  growth,  like  a  toad-stool. 
Slie  has  been  eminently  successful  too.  What  a  catch 
Sir  Peter  was  !  Now,  if  that  wretched  boy  were  to 
die — for  which  consummation,  no  doubt,  her  ladyship 
devoutly  prays — and  Helen  Saville  would  play  her 
cards  with  the  commonest  discretion,  she  might  secure 
the  fortune  for  herself  and  her  sisters  ;  but  she  is  a 
very  uncertain  person,  a  woman  on  whom  no  one 
could  count."  And  St.  George  shook  his  head,  as 
though  he  had  given  the  subject  mature  consideration. 

"I  suppose  you  have  seen  the  son  and  heir?" 
asked  Wilton. 

"  Frequently.  He  dislikes  ine,  and  I  am  amused 
at  the  elaborate  display  he  makes  of  it.  I  also  like 
to  air  my  Italian  with  his  interesting  little  companion." 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  141 

"  You  knew  her  in  Italy,  I  think  Miss  Saville 
said,"  remarked  Wilton. 

"Knew  her?  Never.  I  fancy,  from  what  she 
says,  I  have  met  some  of  the  people  her  father  asso- 
ciated with — a  very  disreputable  set." 

"  Sharpers  and  blacklegs,  I  suppose,"  said  Wil- 
ton carelessly. 

"  No  ;  politically  disreputable  ;  dreamers  of  Utopian 
dreams,  troublesome  items  to  governments ;  amiable 
men,  who  will  make  martyrs  of  themselves.  You 
have  no  idea  in  Englartdwhat  a  nuisance  these  fellows 
are  ;  of  course  there  are  plenty  of  desperate  fanatics 
mixed  up  with  them.  I  do  not  remember  the  name 
of  Rivers  among  those  I  have  met,  but  I  imagine 
that  picturesque  girl  at  Brosedale  was  among  the  bet- 
ter class.  She  really  looks  like  a  gentlewoman  ;  with 
her  knowledge  of  language  and  air  of  refinement 
she  would  make  a  charming  travelling  companion."' 

As  the  accomplished  attach'  uttered  this  with  a 
soft  arch  smile,  as  though  it  were  an  infantine  jest,  he 
little  thought  what  a  large  amount  of  self-control  he 
called  into  action  in  his  cousin's  mind.  To  have 
seized  him  by  the  collar,  and  sha'ken  him  till  he 
retracted  the  insulting  words,  would  have  been  a  great 
relief;  to  have  rebuked  him  sternly  for  speaking 
lightly  of  a  girl  of  whom  he  knew  no  evil,  would  have 
been  some  satisfaction  ;  but  modern  manners  forbade 


142 


RALPH   WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


the  first,  and  a  due  sense  of  the  ridiculous  the 
second.  Control  himself  as  Wilton  might,  he  could 
not  call  up  the  answering  smile  which  St.  George 
expected,  but  instead  stared  at  him  with  a  fixed 
haughty  stare,  which,  although  rather  unaccountable 
to  its  object,  seemed  sufficiently  disagreeable  to 
make  him  turn  away  and  seek  more  congenial  com- 
panionship. 

Wilton,  too,  talked  and  laughed,  and  played  his 
part  with  a  proper  degree  of  animation  ;  but  a  bruised, 
galled  sensation  clung  to  him  all  the  evening.  There 
is  a  large  class  of  men  for  whom  such  a  remark  as  St. 
George  Wilton's  would  have  been  fatally  destructive 
to  the  charm  and  romance  enfolding  an  object  of 
admiration.  To  find  what  is  precious  to  them,  com- 
mon and  unholy  in  the  eyes  of  another,  would  destroy 
the  preciousness  and  desecrate  the  holiness !  But 
there  is  another,  a  smaller,  though  nobler  and  stronger 
class,  whom  the  voice  of  the  scoffer,  scoff"  he  never  so 
subtly,  cannot  incite  to  doubt  or  disloyalty — to  whom 
love  is  still  lovely,  and  beauty  still  beautiful ;  although 
others  apply  different  terms  to  what  they  have  recog- 
nized as  either  one  or  the  other.  'J'bese  are  the  men 
who  see  with  their  own  eyes,  and- Wilton  was  one  of 
them.  It  was  with  the  sort  of  indignation  a  crusader 
might  have  felt  to  see  an  infidel  handling  a  holy  relic, 
that  he  thought  of  his  cousin's  careless  words.     Nay, 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


H3 


more,  reflecting  that  St.  George  was  but  one  of  many 
who  would  have  thus  felt  and  spoken  of  a  girl  to  whom 
he  dared  not  address  a  word  of  love  lest  it  might 
check  or  destroy  the  sweet,  frank  friendliness  with 
which  she  treated  him,  he  asked  himself  again,  what 
was  to  be  the  end  thereof?  Then  he  for  the  first 
time  acknowledged  to  himself  what  he  had  often 
indistinctly  felt  befo)-e,  that  to  tell  her  he  loved  her, 
to  ask  her  to  be  his  wife,  to  read  astonishment,  per- 
haps dawning  tenderness,  in  her  wonderful  eyes,  to 
hold  her  to  his  heart,  to  own  her  before  the  world,  to 
shelter  her  from  difficulty  so  far  as  one  mortal  can 
another,  would  be  heaven  to  him  ! 

She  had  struck  some  deeper,  truer  chord  in  his 
nature  than  had  ever  been  touched  before  ;  and  his 
whole  being  answered ;  all  that  seemed  impossible 
and  insurmountable  gradually  faded  into  insignificance 
compared  to  his  mighty  need  for  that  quiet,  pale, 
dark-eyed  little  girl  ! 

The  day  after  Wilton's  return  from  D- — -Castle, 
feeling  exceedingly  restless  and  unaccountably  expect- 
ant, he  sallied  forth  with  his  gun  on  his  shoulder,  more 
as  any  excuse  than  with  any  active  sporting  inten- 
tions. As  he  passed  the  gate  into  the  road,  a  large 
half-bred  mastiff,  belonging  to  Sir  Peter  Fcrgusson, 
rushed  up,  and  Wilton,  knowing  he  was  an  ill- 
tempered  brute,  called  his  own  dogs  to  heel,  but  the 


144  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

mastiff  did  not  notice  them;  he  kept  snuffing  about 
as  though  he  had  lost  his  master,  and  then  set  off  in 
a  long,  swinging  gallop  toward  Brosedale. 

Wilton,  deep  in  thought,  went  on  to  the  brae  he  so 
often  visited  in  the  commencement  of  his  stay  at  Glen- 
raven.  He  had  not  long  quitted  the  high  road,  when 
he  perceived  a  well-known  figure,  as  usual  clothed  in 
gray,  walking  rather  slowly  before  him,  and  looking 
wonderfully  in  accordance  with  the  soft,  neutral  tints 
of  sky  and  stones  and  hill-side — it  was  one  of  those 
still,  mild  winter  days  that  have  in  them  something 
of  the  tenderness  and  resignation  of  old  age  ;  and 
which,  in  oijr  variable  climate,  sometimes  come  with 
a  startling  change  of  atmosphere  immediately  after 
severe  cold.  As  he  hastened  to  overtake  her,  Wilton 
fancied  her  step  was  less  firm  and  elastic  than  usual  ; 
that  her  head  drooped  slightly  as  if  depressed;  yet 
there  was  a  little  more  color  than  was  ordinary  in  her 
cheek,  and  certainly  an  expression  of  pleasure  in  her 
eyes  that  made  his  heart  beat  when  she  turned  at  his 
salutation.  She  wore  a  small  turban  hat  of  black 
velvet,  with  a  rosette  in  front,  which  looked  Spanish,  and 
most  becoming  to  her  dark  eyes  and  pale,  refined  face. 

"  At  last,  Miss  Rivers  !  I  thought  you  must  have 
abjured  this  brae  since  Moncrief  and  myself  became 
temporary  proprietors.  I  began  to  fear  I  should  never 
meet  you  out  of  doors  again." 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD, 


145 


"  I  have  not  been  out  for  a  long  time  alone,"  she 
replied  ;  "  but  to-day  some  great  man  from  London,  a 
doctor^  was  to  see  poor  Donald,  and  I  was  free  for 
awhile,  so  I  rambled  away  far  up  that  hill-side.  It 
was  delightful — so  still,  so  grave,  so  soft." 

"  You  have  been  up  the  hill,"  cried  Wilton,  in- 
finitely annoyed  to  think  he  had  been  lounging  and 
writing  in  the  house  when  he  might  have  had  a  long 
walk  with  his  companion.  "I  wish  I  had  been  with 
you.  I  imngine  it  must  double  one's  enjoyment  of 
scenery  to  look  at  it  with  a  thorough  artist  like 
yourself." 

Miss  Rivers  did  not  reply  at  once,  but,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  asked,  "  Are  you  going  out  now  to 
shoot  ? " 

"Well,  yes — at  least  it  is  my  first  appearance 
to-day." 

"  Would  it  be  very  inconvenient  to  you  to  walk 
back  to  Brosedale,  or  part  of  the  way,  with  me  .'  " 
She  spoke  with  a  slight,  graceful  hesitation. 

"  Inconvenient !  No,  certainly  not,"  returned 
Wilton,  trying  to  keep  his  eyes  and  voice  from  ex- 
pressing too  plainly  the  joy  her  request  gave  him. 
"It  is  a  charity  to  employ  me.  You  know  I  have 
lost  my  chum,  Major  Moncrief,  and  I  feel  somewhat 
adrift.  But  I  thought  young  Fergusson  was  better. 
Miss  Saville  said  so.'' 
10 


146  RALPH  WILTO^^'S  WEIRD. 

Miss  Rivers  shook  lier  head.  "They  know 
nothing  about  it.  He  will  never  be  better  ;  but  it  is 
not  because  he  is  worse  that  this  great  doctor  comes. 
He  pays  periodical  visits.  Donald  always  suffers; 
and  I  think  he  frets  because  his  step-sisters  and  that 
cousin  of  yours  come  and  sketch  and  talk  in  our  room 
so  often  ;  it  does  him  no  good." 

"Am  I  wrong  in  interpreting  your  emphasis  on 
'that  cousin  of  yours'  as  an  unfavorable  expression?  " 

"Do  you  like  him?  "  she  asked,  looking  straight 
into  his  eyes. 

"No,'"  replied  Wilton,  uncompromisingly;  while 
he  gave  back  her  gaze  with  interest. 

"  It  is  curious,"  she  said,  musingly,  "  for  he  never 
offends ;  he  is  accomplished  ;  his  voice  is  pleasant. 
Why  do  you  not  like  him  ?" 

"  I  cannot  tell.     Why  don't  you  ? " 

"Ah  !  it  is  different.  I — I  am  foolish,  perhaps, 
to  be  so  influenced  by  unreasoning  instinct ;  but  I 
fancy — I  feel — he  is  not  honest — not  true.  Are  you 
really  kinsmen  ? — of  the  same  race,  the  same  blood  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  believe  so  !  And  may  I  infer  from  your 
question  that  you  believe  I  am  tolerably  honest — 
beyond  deserving  to  be  intrusted  with  the  forks  and 
spoons,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  I  do — I  do,  indeed."  She  spoke  quite  earnestly, 
and  the    words  made  Wilton's   heart  beat.     Before, 


RALPH   WILTON'S  WEIRD.  147 

however,  he  had  time  to  reply,  a  gentleman  came 
round  an  angle  of  broken  bank,  crowned  by  a  group 
of  mountain  ash,  which  in  summer  formed  a  very 
picturesque  point,  and  to  Wilton's  great  surprise  he 
found  himself  face  to  face  with  St.  George.  Involun- 
tarily he  looked  at  Ella  Rivers,  but  she  seemed  not 
in  the  least  astonished  ;  rather  cold  and  collected. 
Suddenly  it  flashed  into  his  mind  that  she  had  asked 
his  escort  to  avoid  a  /  te-a-t^te  with  the  agreeable 
attache,  with  a  crowd  of  associated  inferences  not 
calculated  to  increase  his  cousinly  regard.  St.  George 
raised  his  hat  with  a  gentle  smile. 

"  I  did  not  expect  to  have  the  pleasure  of  meeting 
you^  Colonel,  though  I  had  intended  paying  you  a 
visit.  Miss  Rivers,  one  has  seldom  a  chance  of  find- 
ing you  so  far  afield.  I  presume  it  is  a  favorable 
indication  of  the  young  laird's  health  that  you  can  be 
spared  to  enjoy  a  ramble  with  Colonel  Wilton." 

There  was  just  the  suspicion  of  a  sneer  about  his 
lips  as  he  spoke,  which  completed  the  measure  of 
Wilton's  indignation.  But  Miss  Rivers  replied  with 
the  most  unmoved  composure  that  Donald  was  as 
usual,  and  then  walked  on  in  silence.  After  a  few 
remarks,  very  shortly  answered  by  Wilton,  the  bland 
attache  accepted  his  defeat. 

"Did  you  see  a  large  brown  dog  along  here?  I 
had  the  brute  with  me  this  morning,  and  he  has  strayed. 


148 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WE-IRD. 


I  do  not  like  to  return  without  him,  for  he  is  rather  a 
favorite  with  Sir  Peter." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  him  just  now  further  up  the  road,  close 
to  my  gat^,"  returned  Wilton  quickly,  without  adding 
what  direction  the  animal  had  taken. 

"  Thank  you.  Then  I  will  prosecute  my  search 
instead  of  spoiling  your /^/(?-i^-/^/^"— with  which  parting 
shot  St.  George  left  them. 

For  some  paces  Wilton  and  his  companion  walked 
on  in  silence.  He  stole  a  glance  at  her  face  ;  it  was 
composed  and  thoughtful.  "  I  suppose  you  were  not 
surprised  by  that  apparition  ?  Perhaps  it  was  a  choice 
of  the  smaller  evil  that  induced  you  to  adopt  a  tcte-a- 
t  te  with  me,  instead  of  with  him.''"  He  looked 
earnestly  for  her  reply. 

''  It  was,"  she  said,  without  raising  her  eyes  to  his. 
"  He  passed  me  just  now  in  the  dog-cart  with  another 
gentleman,  and  I  thought  it  possible  he  might  return  ; 
so,  as  you  have  always  been  kind  and  friendly,  I 
thought  I  might  ask  you  to  come  with  me." 

Another  pause  ensued,  for  Wilton's  heated  imag- 
ination conjured  up  an  array  of  serious  annoyances 
deserving  the  severest  castigation,  and  he  scarcely 
dared  trust  himself  to  speak,  so  fearful  was  he  of 
checking  her  confidence,  or  seeming  to  guess  too 
much  of  the  truth.  At  last  he  exclaimed,  with  a  sort 
of  suppressed  vehemence  that  startled  Miss  Rivers 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  149 

into  looking  at  him  quickly,  "By  heaven,  it  is  too  bad 
that  you  should  be  bored,  in  your  rare  moments  of 
freedom,  with  the  idle  chatter  of  that  fellow." 

"  It  is  a  bore,  but  that  is  all.  It  amuses  him  to 
speak  Italian  with  me  " — an  expression  of  superb  dis- 
dain gleamed  over  her  face  for  an  instant,  and  left  it 
quiet  and  grave.  "  Though  wonderfully  civil,  even 
complimentary,  he  conveys,  more  than  any  one  I  ever 
met,  the  hatefulness  of  class  distinctions." 

"  I  feel  deeply  thankful  for  the  doubt  you  expressed 
just  now  that  he  belonged  to  the  same  race  as  myself." 

"  You  are  quite  different ;  but  I  dare  say  you  have 
plenty  of  the  prejudices  peculiar  to  your  caste." 

"  I  wish  you  would  undertake  my  conversion.  It 
might  not  be  so  difficult.  Your  denunciation  of 
soldiers  has  rung  in  my  ears — no — rather  haunted  my 
imagination  ever  since  you  showed  me  your  sketch- 
book in  that  desolate  waiting-room." 

"  I  remember,"  said  she,  gravely.  "  No,  I  shall 
never  convert  you  ;  even  if  I  wrote  a  political  thesis 
for  your  benefit."  After  a  short  pause,  she  resumed 
abruptly,  "  Do  you  know,  I  fear  poor  Donald  has  not 
much  of  life  before  him  ?  " 

"  Indeed  !     What  induces  you  to  think  so  ?  " 

"  He  is  so  weak,  and  feverish,  and  sleepless.  He 
often  rings  for  mc  to  read  to  him  in  the  dead  of  the 
night.     And  then,  with  all  his  ill  temper  and  selfish- 


ISO 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


nesS;,  he  has  at  times  such  gleams  of  noble  thought, 
such  flashes  of  intellectual  light,  that  I  cannot  help 
feeling  it  is  the  flicker  of  the  dying  lamp.  I  shall  be 
profoundly  grieved  when  his  sad,  blighted  life  is  over. 
No  one  knows  him  as  I  do  ;  and  no  one  cares  for  me 
as  he  does.  I  have  ventured  to  speak  to  Lady 
Fergusson,  but  she  cannot  or  will  not  see,  and  forbids 
my  addressing  Sir  Peter  on  the  subject." 

"And  if  this  unfortunate  boy  dies,  what  is  to 
become  of  you  .^"  asked  Wilton,  too  deeply  interested 
to  choose  his  words,  yet  a  little  apprehensive  lest  he 
might  offend. 

"I  do  not  know;  I  have  never  thought,"  she 
replied,  quite  naturally.  "I  suppose  I  should  go  back 
to  Mrs.  Kershaw.  She  is  fond  of  me  in  her  way,  espe- 
cially since  I  nursed  her  through  that  fever." 

"  And  then,"  persisted  Wilton,  looking  earnestly 
at  her  half-averted  face  with  an  expression  which,  had 
she  turned  and  caught  it,  would  probably  have  de- 
stroyed the  pleasant,  friendly  tone  of  their  intercourse. 

"I  do  not  know;  but  I  do  not  dread  work.  To 
do  honest  service  is  no  degradation  to  me.  I  have 
always  heard  of  work  as  the  true  religion  of  humanity. 
No.  I  have  very  little  fear  of  the  future,  because, 
perhaps,  I  have  so  little  hope." 

"You  are  a  strange  girl,"  exclaimed  Wilton,  with 
a  certain  degree  of  familiarity,  which  yet  was  perfectly 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD.  151 

respectful.     "I  fancy  few  men  have  so  much  pluck 
I  dare  say  Lacly  Fergusson  would  not  like  to  lose  so 
charming  a  companion  for  her  daughters." 

"  Ladv  Fera[usson  does  not  think  me  at  all  charm- 
ins: ;  and  Miss  Saville  does  not  like  me.  nor  I  her. 
But  whether  they  like  it  or  not,  1  shall  not  remain  if 
Donald  dies." 

"  Mrs.  Kershaw  is  the  person  in  whose  house  your 
father  died  ?  "  said  Wilton  softly,  and  in  the  same  con- 
fidential tone  their  conversation  had  taken. 

Miss  Rivers  bent  her  head. 

"•  Where  does  she  live  ?  " 

"At  Kensington." 

"Whereabouts  ?    I  know  Kensington  pretty  well." 

"  Oh !  in  H Street.     There  is  a  little  garden 

in  front,  so  it  is  called  Gothic  Villa,  though  there  is 
very  little  that  is  Gothic  about  it."  Here  Miss  Riv- 
ers stopped. 

"  Yes  !  "  exclaimed  Wilton  ;  "  I  see  we  are  within 
the  Brosedale  boundaries  ;  but  you  must  not  dismiss 
your  escort  yet ;  that  diplomatic  relative  of  mine  may 
be  on  our  heels." 

"Do  not  imagine  I  fear  to  encounter  him,"  said 
she,  with  an  arch  smile.  "  I  ought,  perhaps,  to  apolo- 
gize to  you  for  taking  you  out  of  your  way  for  so  slight 
a  cause  ;  but  even  if  a  fly  alights  on  one's  brow  or 
hand,  the  impulse  is  to  brush  it  away." 


152  RALPH  U'lLTOA'S  WEIRD. 

"Do  not  dismiss  me  so  soon,  however.  I  am 
going  away  the  day  after  to-morrow,  and  may  not  see 
you  again  before  I  leave." 

"You  are  going!  I  am  sorry."  She  spoke  with 
a  simple  sincerity  that  at  once  charmed,  and  yet  mor- 
tified him. 

"  You  have  always  seemed  more  like  an  old  friend 
than  a  stranger,"  she  continued  ;  "  and  I  shall  miss 
you." 

"  If  I  could  be  of  the  smallest  use — the  slightest 
comfort  to  you,"  said  Wilton— his  tones  deepening 
unconsciously  while  he  drew  nearer  to  her.  feeling 
still  fearful  of  awakening  any  consciousness  of  the 
passionate  feeling  with  which  he   regarded  her — "  I 

would  willingly  renounce  my  visit  to  A ;  but  I 

am  only  going  there  for  a  few  days,  and  hope  to 
return  in  time  for  some  entertainment  which  is  to  take 
place  in  honor  of  Sir  Peter's  birthday." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  it  was  the  same  last  year.  A  ball  for 
the  near  neighbors  and  tenants  and  dwellers  in  the 
house.  I  had  no  heart  to  see  the  last,  but  I  have 
promised  Isabel  to  be  present  at  this." 

"  Indeed  !  then,  pray,  make  another  promise — to 
dance  with  me." 

"  Yes  ;  I  will  dance  with  you,  if  you  remember 
about  it,  and  come  to  claim  me." 

"If!"  repeated  Wilton  with  eloquent  emphasis; 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


153 


"  If  I  am  in  life  you  will  see  me  there,  even  though  I 
risk  another  railway  smash  to  keep  the  tryst." 

There  was  a  fervor  and  depth  in  his  voice  beyond 
what  the  mere  words  required  that  struck  his  com- 
panion.. She  turned  to  him  with  a  startled,  won- 
dering expression  in  her  eyes,  which  met  his  fully 
for  a  moment,  and  then  sank  slowly,  while  a  faint 
flitting  blush  came  and  went  on  her  cheek,  the  sweet 
curved  lips  quivered,  and  an  unmistakable  look  of 
pain  and  gravity  stole  over  her  face.  Wilton  was 
ready  to  curse  his  own  v;ant  of  self-control  for  thus 
disturbing  her,  and  yet  this  touch  of  emotion  and 
consciousness  completed  the  potent  spell  she  had 
laid  upon  him.  He  burned  to  complete  with  his  lips 
the  confession  his  eyes  had  begun,  but  he  must  not, 
dare  not  then  ;  so,  with  an  immense  eftbrt  over  him- 
self, he  managed  to  say  somewhat  at  random,  "  I 
suppose  they  have  a  good  band — good  enough  to 
dance  to  ?" 

" Yes,  I  believe  so;"  and  then  again  she  stood 
still.  "  You  have  come  quite  far  enough.  I  must 
say  good-by.  I  do  not  wish  to  take  you  any  further." 
She  again  raised  her  eyes  to  his  with  a  sort  of  effort, 
but  gravely  and  resolutely. 

"I  obey,"  replied  Wilton  as  gravely,  all  anxiety 
to  win  her  back  to  her  former  easy,  confidential  tone  \ 
he  raised  his  hat  and  looked  in  vain  for  a  movement 


154 


RALPH  WILTON'S   WEIRD. 


on  her  side  to  hokl  out  her  hand.  "Then  I  may 
count  on  you  for  the  fust  waltz  at  the  birthday  fete. 
I  shall  come  for  it,  rest  assured  ;  so  remember  if  you 
let  St.  George  or  any  one  else  persuade  you  to  break 
•your  promises,  the  results  may  be — fatal."  He 
endeavored  to  assume  a  light  tone,  but  could  not 
judge  of  its  effect,  for  Miss  Rivers  merely  said  in  a 
low  voice,  "  Good-by.     I  shall  not  forget." 

Wilton  sought  for  another  glance  in  vain.  She 
bent  her  head  as  he  stood  aside  to  let  her  pass,  and 
vanished  quickly  among  the  trees. 

The  walk  back  was  accomplished  almost  uncon- 
sciously, so  deeply  was  Wilton  absorbed  in  thought. 
Involuntarily  he  had  torn  away  the  veil  which  had 
hitherto  hidden  the  real  character  of  their  inter- 
course from  that  proud,  frank,  simple  girl,  and  how 
would  she  take  it  ?  'With  a  woman  of  her  calibre  any- 
thing like  indirectness,  of  parleying  with  generous 
impulses,  would  consign  him  to  the  liml^o  of  her  con- 
tempt ;  and  the  grand  scorn  of  her  face  when  she 
spoke  of  St.  George  Wilton  amusing  himself  with  her, 
flashed  back  upon  him.  Of  that  he  could  not  bear  to 
tliink,  nor  of  gi\ing  her  up  and  seeking  safety  in 
flight,  nor  o.f  tormenting  himself  by  hanging  about  her 
vaguely.  There  was  but  one  way  out  of  it  all — wild, 
imprudent,"  insane  as  it  must  appear,  even  to  decent 
worldlings  like  Moncrief — and  that  was  to  go  in  gal- 


RALPH   WILTON'S   IVEIRD. 


155 


lantly  and  dauntlessly  for  marriage  at  all  risks.  Wil- 
ton's pulses  throbbed  at  the  idea  ;  once  certain  of 
himself  and  his  motives,  he  felt  that  he  could  break 
down  any  barrier  of  reserve  Ella  Rivers  might  erect 
against  him,  and,  at  least,  ascertain  what  were  his 
chances,  or  if  he  had  any. 

In  this  mood  the  next  day's  dinner  at  Brosedale 
was  a  great  trial,  though  a  slight  increase  of  friend- 
liness toward  St.  George,  who  had  evidently  held 
his  tongue  about  their  rencontre.  All  passed  over 
serenely,  and  promising  faithfully  to  return  in  time 
for  the  ball,  he  bid  the  Brosedale  party  "good-night." 
Not  sorry  to  try  his  own  impressions  by  the  test  of 
change,  both  of  scene  and  company,  he  started  for 
A the  next  morning. 


156  RALPH  IVILTOX'S  WEIRD. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE  annual  entertainment  at  Brosedale  was  on 
an  unusual  scale  this  year.  The  house  was  full, 
and  full  of  eligible  people.  Mr.  St.  George  Wilton, 
it  is  true,  had  departed  without  laying  himself  and 
his  diplomatic  honors  at  Miss  Saville's  feet;  but  that 
accomplished  young  lady  was  upheld  by  the  con- 
sciousness that  his  soldier-cousin  would  be  there  to 
fill  his  place,  and  would  be  no  mean  substitute. 

This  celebration  of  Sir  Peter  Fergusson's  birthday 
was  instituted  by  his  admiring  wife,  who  found  it  use- 
ful as  a  sort  of  rallying  point  at  a  difficult  season,  and 
helped  the  family  radiance  to  obliterate  the  whilom 
revered  Grits  of  Brosedale  ;  and  Sir  Peter,  to  whom 
money  was  no  object,  allowed  himself  to  be  flattered 
and  fooled  into  this  piece  of  popularity-hunting  as 
"  advisable  "  and  the  "  right  thing.". 

Wilton  dressed  and  drove  over  to  Brosedale,  in  a 
mingled  state  of  resolution  and  anxiety.  Although 
he  seemed  as  pleasant  a  companion,  as  good  a  shot, 
as  bold  a  rider  as  ever  to  his  Hussar  hosts,  he  found 
plenty  of  time  to  think,  to  examine,  and  to  torment 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


157 


himself.  He  had  not  reached  his  thirty-fifth  year  with- 
out a  sprinkling  of  love  affairs,  some  of  them,  espec- 
ially of  early  date,  fiery  enough;  but  no  previous  fancy 
or  passion  had  taken  such  deep  hold  upon  him  as  the 
present  one.  Like  many  of  the  better  sort  of  men, 
he  looked  on  women  as  pretty,  charming  toys ;  to 
be  kindly  and  honorably  treated,  cared  for  and  pro- 
tected, but  chiefly  created  for  man's  pleasure,  to  give 
a  certain  grace  to  his  existence  when  good,  and  to 
spoil  it  when  wicked.  A  woman  with  convictions, 
with  an  individual  inner  life  ;  a  woman  he  could  talk 
to,  as  to  a  friend,  apart  from  her  personal  attraction  ; 
a  woman  who  spoke  to  him  as  if  love-making  was  not 
thought  of  between  them  ;  a  woman  to  whom  he  dared 
not  make  love  lest  he  should  lose  those  delicious 
glimpses  of  heart  and  mind,  so  fresh,  so  utterly  uncon- 
scious of  their  own  charm — this  was  something  quite 
beyond  his  experience.  Then,  to  a  true  gentleman, 
her  strangely  forlorn,  isolated  position  hedged  her 
round  with  a  strong  though  invisible  fence  ;  and  the 
great  difficulty  of  meeting  her  alone,  of  finding  oppor- 
tunities to  win  her,  and  rouse  her  from  her  pleasant 
but  provoking  ease  and  friendliness — all  conspired 
to  fan  the  steadily  increasing  fire.  Occupy  himself  as 
he  might,  the  sound  of  her  voice  was  ever  in  his  ear ; 
her  soft,  earnest,  fearless  eyes  forever  in  his  sight. 
What   a   companion    she   would  be,  with  her  bright 


158  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

intelligence,  her  quick  sympathy,  her  artistic  taste ! 
and  through  all  this  attraction  of  fancy  and  intelligence 
ran  the  electric  current  of  strong  passion,  the  ijitense 
longing  to  read  love  in  her  eyes,  to  feel  the  clasp  of 
her  slender  arms,  to  hold  her  to  his  heart,  and  press 
his  lips  to  hers  !  He  had  known  many  foirer  women, 
but  none  before  had  stirred  his  deeper,  better  nature 
like  this  friendless,  obscure  girl,  on  whom  he  involun- 
tarily looked  with  more  of  reverence  than  the  hausrhti- 
est  peeress  had  called  forth  ;  and  come  what  might, 
he  would  not  lose  her  for  lack  of  boldness  to  face 
the  possible  ills  of  an  unequal  match. 

Wilton  did  not  deceive  himself  as  to  the  seeming 
insanity  of  such  a  marriage.  He  knew  what  Moncrief 
would  say;  what  the  world  in  which  he  lived  would 
say— for  that  he  cared  little  ;  but  he  looked  ahead. 
He  knew  his  means  were  limited  for  a  man  in  his 
position;  then  there  were  good  appointments  in  India 
and  elsewhere  for  military  men  with  administrative 
capacities  and  tolerable  interest ;  and  with  Ella  Rivers 
and  plenty  of  work,  home  and  happiness  would  exist 
anywhere,  everywhere  !  Lord  St.  George  !  Ay ;  there 
lay  a  difficulty.  However,  he  was  certainly  a  perfectly 
fre-e  agent;  but  it  went  sorely  against  him  to  resign 
the  prospect  of  wealth  to  support  the  rank  which 
must  come  to  him.  Insensibly  he  had  appropriated 
it  in  his  mind  since  his  interview  with   the  old  peer, 


RAT.PII    WILTON'S    WEIRD.  i^q 

and  now  he  wished  more  than  ever  to  secure  it  for 
Ella's  sake.  Whatever  might  be  the  obscurity  of  her 
origin,  she  would  give  new  dignity  to  a  coronet,  if  she 
would  accept  him.  It  was  this  '-if "that  lay  at  the 
root  of  the  anxiety  with  which  Wilton  drove  to  Brose- 
dale,  and  struggled  to  be  lively  and  agreeable  while 
the  guests  assembled,  for  he  was  unusually  early. 
Who  could  foresee  whether  that  wonderful  uncon- 
sciousness which  characterized  Miss  Rivers's  manner 
might  not  be  the  result  of  a  preoccupied  heart  .^  At 
the  idea  of  a  rival^a  successful  rival — Wilton  felt 
murderous,  while  smiling  and  complimenting  Miss 
Saville  as  they  stood  together  in  the  music-room,  where 
the  first  arrivals  were  received. 

"  I  thought  St.  George  had  left  some  time  ago," 
he  said,  observing  that  gentleman  approach. 

^'He  returned  for  the  ball,"  replied  Miss  Saville, 
who  was  looking  very  handsome  in  a  superb  toilet. 
"He  dances  divinely.  We  could  not  have  got  on 
without  him." 

"Dancing  is  a  diplomatic  accompli.shment,"  said 
Wilton  gravely.  "  I  am  told  there  used  to  be  a  com- 
petition ballet  once  a  year  at  Whitehall,  for  which  leave 
was  granted  at  remote  missions ;  but  the  advantages 
possessed  by  the  Paris  and  Vienna  attaches  over  those 
in  Vancouver's  Land   and   the  Cannibal  Islands  were 


l6o  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

SO  unfair  that  it  has  been  discontinued;  besides,  old 
H is  opposed  to  the  graces." 

This  speech  permitted  St.  George  to  come  up,  and 
he  immediately  engaged  the  beautiful  Helen  for  the 
first  waltz. 

"I  think  we  may  as  well  begin,  Helen,"  said  Lady 
Fergusson  \  "  we  can  make  up  two  or  three  quadrilles. 
"  Come,  Lord  Ogilvie" — this  to  a  fledgling  lord,  who 
had  been  caught  for  the  occasion — "  take  Miss  Saville 
to  the  ball-room." 

"Where  is  your  youngest  daughter,  Lady  Fer- 
gusson ? "  asked  Colonel  Wilton.  "  I  suppose  on 
such  an  occasion  she  is  permitted  to  share  the  pomps 
and  vanities.     Eh  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Isabel  !  She  has  already  gone  into  the 
ball-room  with  INIiss  Walker ;  but  I  cannot  permit  you 
to  throw  yourself  away  on  a  school  girl.  Let  me 
introduce  you  to — " 

"  My  dear  Lady  Fergusson,  you  must  permit  me 
the  liberty  of  choice.  Isabel  or  nothing,"  he  inter- 
rupted. 

"Very  well,"  said  Lady  Fergusson,  with  a  slight, 
but  pleased  smile. 

Colonel  Wilton  offered  his  arm,  and  they  proceeded 
to  the  ball-room.  It  was  the  largest  of  two  large 
drawing-rooms,  only  separated  by  handsome  columns. 
Cleared   of  furniture   and  profusely  decorated   with 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  i6i 

flowers,  it   was   spacious  and   attractive    enough   to 

satisfy  the  wildest  D shire  imagination,  nor  was  it 

beneath  the  approval  of  the  experienced  Londoners 
staying  in  the  house.  At  one  end  it  opened  on  a 
large  fragrant  conservatory  ;  here  the  band  v,-as  sta- 
tioned ;  at  the  further  end  of  the  second  drawing- 
room  was  an  apartment  devoted  to  refreshments,  and 
again  communicating  with  the  conservatory  by  a 
glass-covered  passage  lined  with  tropical  shrubs, 
lighted  by  soft,  ground-glass  lamps,  and  warmed  to  a 
delicious  temperature.  When  Wilton  entered  the 
ball-room  the  first  sets  of  quadrilles  were  being  formed. 
He  soon  perceived  Isabel  standing  beside  her  step- 
father, and  Miss  Walker,  in  festive  attire,  conversing 
with  a  learned-looking  old  gentleman  in  spectacles  at 
a  little  distance.  Wilton's  heart  failed  him.  Where 
was  Ella  Rivers  ?  Had  Donald  insisted  on  keeping 
her  a  prisoner  lest  she  might  enjoy  a  pleasure  he 
could  not  share? 

However,  he  asked  the  delighted  school-girl  to 
dance  with  a  suitable  air  of  enjoyment,  and  before 
the  third  figure  had  begun  had  extracted  the  follow- 
ing information. 

'"  Donald  has  been  frightfully  cross  all  day  ;  he 

always  is  when  we  have  a  ball ;  and  he  has  kept  Miss 

Rivers  so  late  !     But  I  think  she  is  ready  now ;  she 

was  to   wait   in    the   conservatory   till    Miss   Walker 

II 


1 62  RALPH  WILTON'S   WEIRD. 

went  for  her,  as  she  could  not  very  well  come  in 
alone." 

After  which  communication  Miss  Isabel  Saville 
found  her  partner  slightly  absent,  and  given  rather  to 
spasmodic  spurts  of  conversation  than  to  continuous 
agreeability.  In  truth,  the  quadrille  seemed  very 
long.  He  watched  Miss  Walker  carefully ;  she  was 
still  alone,  and — if  such  a  phrase  could  be  applied  to 
anything  so  rigid — fluttering  amiably  from  one  dow- 
ager to  another  among  the  smaller  gentry  invited 
once  a  year. 

"  Now  Colonel  Wilton,"  said  Lady  Fergusson 
when  the  quadrille  was  over,  "  I  will  introduce  you 
to  a  charming  partner — an  heiress,  a  belle — " 

"Do  not  think  of  it,"  he  interrupted.  "I  have 
almost  forgotten  how  to  dance  ;  you  had  better  keep 
me  as  a  reserve  fund  for  the  partnerless  and  forlorn." 

Wilton  stepped  back  to  make  way  for  some  new 
arrivals  ;  still,  no  sign  of  Ella.  Miss  Walker  was  in 
deep  conversation  with  a  stout  lady  in  maroon  satin 
and  black  lace ;  she  had  evidently  forgotten  her 
promise ;  so,  slipping  through  the  rapidly-increas- 
ing crowd,  Wilton  executed  a  bold  and  skilful  flank 
movement. 

Passing  behind  the  prettily  orpamcnted  stand 
occupied  by  ilic  musicians,  just  as  they  struck  up  a 
delicious   waltz,  he   plunged    into  the    dimly-lighted 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD.  163 

recesses  of  the  conservatory  in  search  of  the  missing 
girl.  She  was  not  there,  so  he  dared  to  penetrate 
into  the  passage  before  mentioned,  on  which  one  or 
two  doors  opened  ;  one  of  them  was  open,  letting  in 
a  brilliant  light  from  the  room  behind,  and  just  upon 
the  threshold  stood  Ella  Rivers,  with  an  expectant 
look  in  her  eyes.  Wikon  paused  in  his  approach,  so 
impressed  was  he  by  her  air  of  distinction.  The 
delicate  white  of  her  neck  and  arms  showed  through 
her  dress  of  black  gauze  ;  her  dark  brown,  glossy 
hair  braided  back  into  wide  plaited  loops  behind  her 
small  shell-like  ear,  and  brought  round  the  head  in  a 
sort  of  crown,  against  which  lay  her  only  ornament,  a 
white  camellia  with  its  dark  green  leaves.  x\s  she 
stood  thus,  still  and  composed,  waiting  patiently,  and 
looking  so  purely,  softly,  colorless,  and  fair,  the  quiet 
grace  of  her  figure,  the  dusk  transparency  ol  her 
drapery,  associated  her  in  Wilton's  fancy  with  the 
tender  beauty  of  moonlight ;  but,  as  the  thought 
passed  through  his  brain,  he  stepped  forward  and 
accosted  her. 

"  I  have  come  to  claim  the  waltz  you  promised 
me.  Miss  Rivers." 

She  started,  and  colored  slightly.  "  Yes,"  she  re- 
plied, "  I  am  ready,  as  you  have  remembered.  I 
am  waiting  for  Miss  Walker,  who  promised  to  come 
for  me." 


1 64  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"  She  is  engaged  with  some  people  in  the  ball- 
room, so  I  ventured  to  come  in  her  place." 

He  bowed,  and  offered  his  arm  as  he  spoke,  with 
the  utmost  deference  ;  and  Miss  Rivers,  with  one 
quick,  surprised  glance,  took  it  in  silence. 

"  You  remembered  your  promise  to  me  ?  "  asked 
Wilton,  as  they  passed  through  the  conservatory. 

"  Scarcely,"  she  replied,  with  a  slight  smile.  '"I 
did  not  think  of  it  till  you  spoke." 

"  And  had  I  been  a  little  later  I  should  have  found 
you  waltzing  with  some  more  fortunate  fellow  ? " 

"  Yes,  very  likely,  had  any  one  else  asked  me. 
You  see,"  apologeticnlly,  "  I  am  very  fond  of  dancing, 
and  I  know  so  few — or  rather  I  know  no  one — so  had 
you  not  come,  and  I  had  waited  for  you,  I  might  never 
have  danced  at  all." 

"  But  you  knew  I  would  come,"  exclaimed  Wilton, 
eagerly. 

Miss  Rivers  shook  her  head,  raising  her  eyes  to 
his  with  the  first  approach  to  anything  like  coquetry 
he  had  ever  noticed  in  her,  though  playfulness  would 
be  the  truer  description. 

"  You  knew  I  would  come,"  he  repeated. 

"Indeed  I  did  not." 

These  words  brought  them  to  the  ball-room,  and 
as  they  stepped  out  into  the  light  and  fragrance  of 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  165 

the  bright,  well-filled,  decorated  room,  Wilton's  com- 
panion uttered  a  low  exclamation  of  delight. 

"  How  beautiful !  how  charming — and  the  music  ! 
Come,  let  us  dance !  we  are  losing  time.  Oh  !  how 
long  ii  is  since  I  danced  !  How  glad  I  am  you  came 
for  me  !  " 

Wilton  tried  to  look  into  her  eyes,  to  catch  their 
expression  when  she  uttered  these  words,  but  in  vain 
— they  were  wandering  with  animated  delight  over  the 
gay  scene  and  whirling  figures,  while  her  hand,  half 
unconsciously,  was  stretched  up  to  his  shoulder.  The 
next  moment  they  were  floating  away  to  the  strains  of 
one  of  Strauss's  dreamy  waltzes. 

"And  where  did  you  last  dance?"  asked  Wilton, 
as  they  paused  for  breath. 

"Oh  !  at  M ,  under  the  great  chestnut  trees. 

There  was  an  Austrian  band  there ;  and,  although 
such  tyrants,  they 'make  excellent  music,  the  Austrians. 
It  was  so  lovely  and  fresh  that  evening." 

"  And  who  were  your  partners — Austrian  or 
Italian?" 

"  Neither  ;  I  only  danced  with  Diego — dear,  good 
Diego.  Do  not  speak  of  it!  I  want  to  forget 
now.  I  want  to  enjoy  this  one  evening — ^just  this 
one." 

There  was  wonderful  pathos  in  her  voice  and  eyes; 
but  Wilton  only  said,  "Then,  if  you  are  rested,  we  will 


1 66  RALPH  IV !L  TON'S  WEIRD. 

go  on  again."  He  could  not  trust  himself  to  say  more 
at  that  moment. 

When  the  dance  was  ended.  Wilton,  anxious  to 
avoid  drawing  any  notice  upon  his  partner,  led  her  at 
once  to  Miss  Walker,  and  considerably  astonished 
that  lady  by  asking  her  for  the  next  quadrille.  For 
several  succeeding  dances  he  purposely  avoided  Ella, 
while  he  distributed  his  attentions  with  judicious 
impartiality;  although  he  managed  to  see  that  she 
danced  more  than  once,  but  never  with  St.  George, 
who  seemed  to  avoid  her. 

At  last,  the  move  to  supper  was  made,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  a  gay  gallop  was  played,  to  employ  the 
younger  guests  and  keep  them  from  crowding  upon 
their  elders  while  in  the  sacred  occupation  of  eating. 
Seeing  the  daughters  of  the  house  deeply  engaged, 
Wilton  indulged  himself  in  another  dance  with  Ella. 
When  they  ceased,  the  room  was  wellnigh  cleared. 

"Now,  tell  me,"  said  Wilton — his  heart  beating 
fast,  for  he  was  resolved  not  to  part  with  his  compan- 
ion until  he  had  told  her  the  passionate  love  which 
she  had  inspired — till  he  had  won  her  to  some  avowal, 
or  promise,  or  explanation — "  tell  me,  have  you  had 
nothing  all  this  time  ?     No  ice,  or  wine,  or — " 

"  Yes — an  ice  ;  it  was  very  good." 

"And  you  would  like  another?  Come,  we  are 
more  likely  to  find  it  in  the  refreshment-room  than  at 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


167 


supper,  and  be  less  crowded  too  ;  unless  your  mind  is 
fixed  on  game  pie  and  champagne?"  While  he 
forced  himself  to  speak  lightly,  he  scarce  heard  his 
own  spoken  words,  for  listening  to  the  burning  sen- 
tences forming  themselves  in  his  brain,  and  for  plan- 
ning how  to  find  some  blessed  opportunity  of  being 
alone  with  the  fair  girl,  whose  hand,  as  it  rested  on 
his  arm,  he  could  not  help  pressing  to  his  side. 

"  No,  no,"  she  exclaimed,  smiling,  "  I  do  not  care 
for  game  pie  ;  but  I  should  like  an  ice." 

"  Then  we  will  make  for  the  refreshment-room." 
It  was  nearly  empty,  but  not  quite  ;  one  or  two  coup- 
les and  a  few  waiters  rendered  it  anything  but  a  desir- 
able solitude.  However^  Wilton  composed  himself  as 
best  he  could  to  watch  Ella  eat  her  ice,  while  he 
solaced  himself  with  a  tumbler  of  champagne.  "Who 
have  you  been  dancing  v/ith?"  he  asked,  trying  to 
make  her  speak  and  look  at  him. 

"  I  do  not  know.  One  gentleman  was  introduced 
to  me  by  Isabel ;  the  other  introduced  himself  I 
liked  him  the  best,  although  he  is  a  soldier " — a 
laughing  glance  at  Wilton — "  and  he  says  he  knows 
you." 

"Oh!  young  Langley  of  the  15th,  I  suppose.?" 

"  He  dances  very  badly — much  worse  than  you 
do." 

"  That  is  a  very  disheartening  speech.     1  thought  I 


1 68  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

rather  distinguished  myself  this  evening  3  but  I  suppose 
your  friend  Diego  could  distance  me  considerably." 

"You  mean  he  danced  better?" — pausing,  with  a 
spoonful  of  ice  half-way  to  her  lips.  "  Well,  yes ; 
you  really  dance  very  well  ;  I  enjoyed  my  dance  with 
you  ;  but  Diego  !  his  dancing  was  superb !  " 

"  Was  he  not  rather  old  for  such  capering  ? " 

"  Old  !  Ah,  no.  Diego  never  was,  never  will  be, 
old !  Poor  fellow  !  You  would  like  Diego,  if  you 
knew  him." 

"You  think  so?"' — very  doubtfully — "however, 
we  were  not  to  talk  about  him.  Let  me  take  away 
your  plate.  And  have  you  managed  to  enjoy  your 
eveninpj  ? " 

"Well,  no" — -looking  up  at  him  with  wistful  eyes 
— "  that  is  the  truth.  It  is  so  terribly  strange  and 
lonely,  I  was  thinking  of  stealing  away  when  you 
asked  me  for  that  galop." 

"Let  us  go  and  see  Donald,"  exclaimed  Wilton, 
abruptly  rising.  "  His  room  opens  on  the  other  side 
of  the  conservatory,  does  it  not?" 

"  But  he  is  not  there  ;  he  is  gone  to  bed." 

"  Had  he  gone  when  you  came  away  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  he  was  quite  worn  out  with  his  own 
crossness,  and  is,  I  hope,  fast  asleep  by  this  time." 

"Well,  I  am  under  the  impression  that  he  is  still 
up." 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  169 

"  Did  any  one  tell  you  ?  How  very  wrong.  He 
ought  to  be  in  bed.     I  shall  go  and  see." 

"  Yes  J  you  had  better.  It  is  half  past  twelve! 
Let  me  go  with  you  ;  I  may  be  of  some  use." 

'^  Ceme,  then,"  said  she,  frankly  ;  and  Wilton  fol- 
lowed her,  feeling  that  he  was  about  to  reap  the 
reward  of  the  self-control  by  which  he  had  won  back 
her  confidence,  which  he  feared  his  unguarded  glance 
had  shaken  w'hen  they  had  last  met. 

Ella  Rivers  walked  quickly  down  the  passage 
leading  to  the  conservatory,  now  quite  deserted,  the 
band  having  gone  to  refresh,  and  crossed  to  a  glass 
door,  through  which  light  still  shone.  "  I  do  believe 
he  is  up.  The  lamp  is  still  burning."  She  opened 
it  and  stepped  in.  Wilton  followed,  dexterously  drop- 
ping the  curtain  as  he  passed  through. 

"  No  ;  he  is  gone,"  said  Ella,  looking  around.  "I 
am  so  glad  !  " 

"  So  am  I,"  exclaimed  Wilton,  most  sincerely. 

"  How  quiet  and  comfortable  the  room  looks," 
continued  his  companion,  drawing  off  her  gloves.  "  I 
shall  not  return  to  the  ball ;  it  is  no  place  for  me  ;  so 
good-night,  Colonel  Wilton." 

"  Not  yet,"  he  exclaimed,  in  a  low,  earnest  tone. 
"  Hear  me  first — I  cannot  help  speaking  abruptly — I 
dare  not  lose  so  precious  an  opportunity."  He  ap- 
proached her  as  he  spoke.     She  was  standing  by  a 


I/O 


RALPH   WILTON'S    WEIRD. 


large  writing-table  near  the  fire-place,  where  the  last 
embers  were  dying  out;  she  had  just  laid  down  her 
gloves,  and,  resting  one  hand  upon  the  table,  looked 
up  with  a  wondering,  startled  expression.  Her  total 
unconsciousness  of  what  was  coming  struck  Wilton 
dumb  for  a  moment ;  but  he  was  naturally  resolute, 
and  had  the  advantage  of  having  thoroughly  made  up 
his  mind.  "  Although  I  have  done  my  best  to  mask 
my  feelings,"  he  resumed,  speaking  rapidl}',  but  with 
unmistakable  emotion,  "fearing  to  frighten  you  from 
the  friendly  confidence  you  have  hitherto  shown  me, 
I  cannot  hide  or  suppress  them  any  longer — I  must 
tell  you  I  love  you!  I  must  ask  if  there  is  a  chance 
for  me  with  you  ?  I  know  it  is  audacious  to  address 
you  tiius  when  I  have  had  so  few  opportunities  of 
making  myself  known  to  you  ;  but  the  great  difficulty 
of  seeing  you,  your  peculiar  position,  the  terrible 
uncertainty — " 

"Oh!  hush,  hush!"  interrupted  Ella,  who  had 
turned  very  pale,  covering  her  eyes  with  one  hand  and 
stretching  out  the  other  as  if  to  ward  off  a  danger; 
"  do  not  speak  like  that !  Have  I  lost  my  only  friend  ! 
I  did  not  dream  of  this — at  least  I  only  once  feared 
it,  I—" 

"  Feared,"  interrupted  Wilton  in  his  turn.  "  Why, 
am  I  lost.-"  Are  you  pledged  to  some  other  man  that 
you  shrink  from  me  ?     Speak,  Ella  !     If  it  is  so,  why 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  lyi 

I  must  not  force  myself  upon  you.  Speak  to  me ! 
look  at  me  !  "  And,  in  his  intense  anxiety  to  ascer- 
tain the  truth,  he  drew  her  hand  from  her  face  and 
held  it  locked  in  both  of  his. 

''I  pledged  to  any  one  !  no  indeed  "—raising  her 
eyes,  by  a  sort  of  determined  effort,  gravely,  earnestly 
to  his — '"'  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing  !  "  she 
returned,  trying  to  draw  away  her  hand. 

"  Then  am  I  utterly  unacceptable  to  you .''  You 
cannot  form  an  idea  of  the  intense  love  you  have 
created,  or  you  would  not  speak  so  coldly  !  Ella, 
there  is  no  one  to  care  for  you  as  I  do — no  one  to 
consult — no  one  to  keep  you  back  from  me  !  If  you 
do  not  care  for  me  now,  tell  me  how  I  can  win  you! 
do  not  turn  away  from  me  !  I  have  much  to  explain 
— much  to  tell  you — and  I  dare  not  detain  you  now 
lest  we  might  be  interrupted,  but  come  to-morrow 
across  the  brae !  I  will  be  there  every  afternoon  by 
the  cairn  until  you  can  manage  to  come,  if  you  will 
only  promise.  For  God's  sake  do  not  refuse  to  hear 
me  !  "  He  bent  over  her,  longing,  yet  not  daring,  to 
draw  her  to  him. 

"  Let  my  hand  go,"  said  Ella,  in  a  low  voice,  and 
trembling  very  much.  Wilton  instantly  released  it. 
"  Go  to  meet  you  !  no,  I  must  not — I  will  not."  She 
stopped,  and,  pressing  her  hand  against  her  heart, 
went  on  hurriedly — "  I  can  hear  no  more  ;  I  will  go 


172  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

away  now  !  Ah !  how  sorry  I  am  !  "  She  moved 
toward  a  door  opening  into  the  house,  but  Wilton 
intercepted  her. 

"  You  misunderstand  me,  though  I  cannot  see 
why ;  but  will  you  at  least  promise  to  read  what  I 
write  ?  Promise  this,  and  I  will  not  intrude  upon 
you  any  longer." 

"  I  will,"  she  replied  faintly.  Wilton  bowed  and 
stepped  back  ;  the  next  instant  he  was  alone. 

Alone,  and  most  uncomfortable.  He  had  in  some 
mysterious  manner  offended  her.  He  could  under- 
stand her  being  a  little  startled,  but—  here  one  of  those 
sudden  intuitions  which  come  like  a  flash  of  summer 
lightning,  revealing  objects  shrouded  in  the  dark  of  a 
sultry  night,  darted  across  his  misty  conjectures — he 
had  not  mentioned  the  words  "  wife"  or  "  marriage  " 
Could  she  imagine  that  he  was  only  trifling  with  her? 
or  worse  ?  The  blood  mounted  to  his  cheek  as  the 
thought  struck  him  ;  and  yet,  painful  as  the  idea  was, 
it  suggested  hope.  Her  evident  grief,  her  visible 
shrinking  from  the  word  "love,"  did  not  look  like 
absolute  indifference.  She  did  not  like  to  lose  him 
as  a  friend,  and  she  feared  a  possible  loss  of  respect 
in  his  adopting  the  character  of  her  lover.  Then  she 
had  been  so  deeply  impressed  by  the  caste  prejudices 
of  the  people  around  her,  to  say  nothing  of  the  possible 
impertinences  of  Mr.  St.  George  Wilton,  that  it  was 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


^n 


not  improbable  she  had  cruelly  misinterpreted  his 
avowal.  These  reflections  gave  him  the  keenest  pain, 
the  most  ardent  longing  to  fly  to  Ella  to  pour  out 
assurances  of  the  deepest,  the  warmest  esteem,  but 
that  was  impossible  for  the  present ;  he  had  nothing 
for  it  but  to  hook  up  the  curtain  again,  and  return  to 
the  ball-room,  planning  a  letter  to  Ella,  which  should 
leave  no  shadow  of  doubt  as  to  the  sincerity  and 
purity  of  his  affection  for  her. 

But  the  sound  of  the  music,  the  sight  of  the  dancers, 
the  effort  to  seem  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  was  too 
much  for  his  self-control,  and,  excusing  himself  to  his 
hostess,  he  was  soon  driving  liome,  thankful  to  be  out 
in  the  cold,  fresh  night  air,  which  seemed  to  quiet  his 
pulses  and  clear  his  thoughts.  Cost  him  what  it 
might,  he  would  never  give  Ella  up,  unless  she  posi- 
tively refused  him,  and  of  that  he  would  not  think. 
The  slight  and  unsatisfactory  taste  of  open  love-making 
which  he  had  snatched  only  served  to  increase  the 
hunger  for  more.  The  indescribable,  shrinking, 
despairing  tone  and  gesture  with  which  Ella  cried, 
"Then  I  have  lost  you  for  my  friend,"  was  vividly 
present  with  him.  and  before  he  slept  that  night,  or 
rather  morning,  he  poured  forth  on  paper  all  his  love, 
his  aspirations,  that  could  be  written.  He  did  not, 
as  letter-writing  heroes  generally  do,  sacrifice  a  heca- 
tomb of  note-paper.     He  knew  what  he  wanted,  and 


174  RALPH   WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

said  it  in  good,  terse,  downright  English,  stamped 
with  so  much  earnestness  and  honesty  that  it  would 
have  been  a  cold  heart,  much  colder  than  Ella  Rivers's, 
that  could  have  read  it  unmoved.  Then,  like  a  sen- 
sible man — for  in  spite  of  the  strong  love  fit  upon 
him,  and  the  rather  insane  line  of  conduct  he  had 
chosen  to  adopt,  Wilton  was  a  sensible  fellow — he  set 
himself  to  wait  patiently  till  the  following  day,  which 
might  bring  him  a  reply,  or  possibly  a  meeting  with  Ella 
herself,  which  he  had  most  urgently  entreated.  That 
she  would  either  write  or  come  he  felt  sure,  and  so  to 
while  away  the  time  he  kept  a  half  made  appointment 
with  some  of  his  military  friends,  and  enjoyed  a  sharp 

run  over  a  stiff  country  with  the  D shire  hounds, 

and  dined  with  the  mess  afterwards. 

He  was,  however,  less  composed  next  day  when 
no  letter  reached  him  from  Ella,  and  no  P^lla  appeared 
at  the  trvst.  The  next  day  was  stormy,  with  heavy 
showers,  and  the  next  was  frosty — still  no  letter  ;  still 
no  Ella — and  Wilton  began  to  fret,  and  champ  the  bit 
of  imperious  circumstance  with  suppressed  fury.  If 
to-morrow  brought  no  better  luck  he  would  endure  it 
no  longer,  but  make  a  bold  inroad  upon  the  fortress 
wherein  his  love — his  proud,  delicate  darling — was 
held  in  durance  vile. 

The  weather  was  still  bright  and  clear.  A  light 
frost  lay  crisp  and  sparkling  on  the  short  herbage  and 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  175 

tufts  of  broom  ;  the  air  was  so  still,  that  the  rush  of 
the  river,  as  it  chafed  against  the  big  black  stones 
opposing  its  progress,  could  be  heard  at  a  consider- 
able distance  past  the  cairn,  where  a  path  very  little 
frequented  branched  off  to  a  remote  hamlet  over  the 
wooded  hill  behind  Glenraven.  The  low-lying  country 
towards  Monkscleugh  lay  mapped  out  in  the  rarefied 
air,  which  diminished  distance  and  gave  wondrous 
distinctness  to  all  outlines.  A  delicious  winter's  day  ; 
all  sounds  mellowed  to  a  sort  of  metallic  music  by 
the  peculiar  state  of  the  atmosphere.  But  Wilton 
was  in  no  mood  to  enjoy  the  beauties  of  nature.  He 
was  feverish  with  impatience  as  he  walked  to  and  fro 
behind  the  friendly  shelter  of  the  cairn,  and  noticed, 
in  the  odd,  mechanical  way  with  which  the  mind  at 
certain  crises  seems  excited  into  a  species  of  double 
action,  and  while  absorbed  by  the  great  motive  can 
yet  take  in  and  imprint  indelibly  upon  its  tablets  all 
the  rninute  details  of  surrounding  objects.  He  saw 
the  picturesque  roughness  of  a  prostrate  tree ;  he 
watched  the  shadow  of  the  cairn  stealing  gradually 
further  eastward  ;  he  noticed  a  little  robin  perching 
on  a  twig,  that  seemed  to  look  at  him  without  appre- 
hension ;  he  gazed  at  a  couple  of  ragged,  miserable 
goats  who  were  feeding  at  a  little  distance,  occasion- 
ally lifting  up  their  heads  to  bleat  at  each  other. 
Years  after  he  could  have  described  the  position  of 


1/6 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


these  objects,  though  at  the  moment  he  was  scarce 
conscious  of  them.  "  Ten  minutes  to  three  !  If  she 
is  not  here  ui  ten  minutes,  I  will  walk  on  to  Brosedale 
and  find  out  why,"  he  muttered  to  himself,  as  he 
walked  away  once  more  toward  the  hill.  When  he 
turned  he  saw  a  slight  figure,  wrapped  in  a  dark 
green  plaid^  standing  beside  the  tree,  in  the  place  he 
had  just  quitted.  Then— impatience,  and  doubt,  and 
anger  all  swept  away  in  a  flood  of  delight — he  sprang 
to  meet  her. 

"  At  last !  I  thought  you  would  never  come.  And 
yet  how  good  of  you  to  grant  my  request.  I  have 
lived  two  years  since  I  spoke  to  you." 

Ella  smiled  and  colored,  then  turned  very  pale,  and 
gently,  but  firmly,  drew  away  the  hand  he  had  taken— 
looking  on  the  ground  all  the  time.  "  I  could  not 
come  before,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  unsteady  voice. 
"  To-day   Sir  Peter  has  taken  Donald  with   him  to 

D ."     A  pause.     "  I   am  afraid  you  thought  me 

rude — unkind — but  I  scarcely  understood  you,     I — " 
She  stopped  abruptly. 

"Do  you  understand  me  now?"  asked  Wilton, 
gravely,  coming  close  to  her,  and  resting  one  foot  only 
on  the  fallen  tree,  while  he  bent  to  look  into  the  sweet, 
pale  face.     "  Have  you  read  my  letter?  " 

"Yes;  many  times,     It  has  infinitely  astonished 


me." 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  177 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  That  you  should  ask  so  great  a  stranger  to  share 
your  life — your  name.  To  be  with  you  always — till 
death.     Is  it  not  unwise,  hasty  ?  " 

"  Many — most  people  would  say  so,  who  were  not 
in  love.  I  cannot  reason  or  argue  about  it.  I  only 
know  that  I  cannot  face  the  idea  of  life  without  you. 
Nor  shall  anything  turn  me  from  my  determination  to 
win  you,  except  your  own  distinct  rejection." 

"  Is  it  possible  you  feel  all  this — and  for  me  ? " 
exclaimed  Ella,  stepping  back  and  raising  her  great, 
deep,  blue,  wondering  eyes  to  his. 

"  I  loved  you  from  the  hour  v,e  first  met,"  said 
Wilton,  passionately.  "  For  God's  sake  !  do  not  speak 
so  coldl}'.  Are  you  utterly  indifferent  to  me  ?  or  have 
you  met  some  one  you  can  love  better  ?  " 

"  Neither,"  she  replied,  still  looking  earnestly  at 
him.  "  I  never  loved  any  one.  I  have  often  thought 
of  loving,  and  feared  it  I  it  is  so  solemn.  But  how 
could  I  love  you  ?  I  have  always  liked  to  meet  you 
and  speak  to  you,  still  I  scarcely  know  you  ;  and 
though  to  me  such  things  are  folly,  I  know  that  to  you 
and  to  your  class  there  seems  a  great  gulf  fixed  between 
us — a  gulf  I  never  dreamed  you  would  span." 

"  I  do  not  care  what  the  gulf,  what  the  obstacle," 
cried  Wilton,  again  possessing  himself  of  her  hand  ; 
"  I  only  know  that  no  woman  was  ever  before  neces- 
12 


178  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

sary  to  my  existence  ;  high  or  low,  you  are  my  queen  ! 
Do  not  think  I  should  have  dared  to  express  my  feel 
ings  so  soon,  but  for  the  enormous  difficulty  of  seeing 
you — of  meeting  you.  Then  I  feared  that  you  might 
drift  away  from  me.  I  am  not  wanting  in  pluck  ;  but, 
by  heaven  !  I  never  was  in  such  a  fright  in  my  life  as 
the  other  night  when  I  began  to  speak  to  you." 

A  sweet  smile  stole  round  Ella's  lips  and  sparkled 
in  her  eyes  as  he  spoke.  "  Ah  !  you  are  not  going 
to  be  inexorable,"  he  continued,  watching  with  delight 
this  favorable  symptom  ;  "  if  you  are  heart-whole  I  do 
not  quite  despair." 

"  Colonel  Wilton,"  she  replied,  again  drawing  away 
her  hand,  "  take  care  you  are  not  acting  on  a  mere 
impulse." 

"You  speak  as  if  I  were  a  thoughtless,  inexperi- 
enced boy,"  he  interrupted,  impatiently.  "  You  forget 
that  I  was  almost  a  man  when  you  were  born  ;  and  as 
to  reflecting,  I  have  never  ceased  reflecting  since  I 
met  you.  Believe  me,  T  have  thought  of  everything 
possible  and  impossible,  and  the  result  is  you  must  be 
my  wife,  unless  you  have  some  insuperable  objection." 

"Oh,  let  me  speak  to  you,"  she  exclaimed,  clasp- 
ing her  hands  imploringly  ;  "speak  out  all  my  mind, 
and  do  not  be  offended,  or  misinterpret  me." 

"  I  will  listen  to  every  syllable,  and  stand  any 
amount  of  lecturing  you  choose  to  bestow  ;  but  let  us 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD.  179 

walk  on  toward  the  hill ;  you  will  take  cold  standing 
here." 

They  moved  on  accordingly,  Ella  speaking  with 
great,  though  controlled,  animation — sometimes  stop- 
ping to  enforce  her  words  with  slight,  eloquent  ges- 
tures. Wilton's  heart  in  his  eyes,  listening  with  his 
whole  soul,  slowly  and  meditatively  pulling  out  his 
long  moustaches. 

"Nature  to  nature,"  continued  Ella.  "  I  know  I 
am  not  unworthy  of  you,  even  if  you  are  all  you  seem. 
But  are  you  quite  sure  you  will  always  see  as  clearly 
through  the  outside  of  things  as  vou  do  now?  Ah!  I 
have  heard  and  read  such  sad,  terrible  stories  of 
change,  and  vain  regret  for  what  was  irremediable, 
that  1  tremble  at  the  thought  of  what  you  might  bring 
upon  us  both.  Mind  to  mind,  heart  to  heart,  we  are 
equals  ;  but  the  accidents  of  our  condition — just  look 
at  the  difference  between  them.  I  am  the  veriest 
thistledown  of  insignificance.  I  scarce  know  who  I 
am  myself;  and  might  not  the  day  come  when  you 
will  regret  having  sacrificed  your  future  to  a  fancy,  a 
whim  ?  You  might  be  too  generous  to  say  so,  but  do 
you  think'I  should  not  know  it?  If  I  married  you  I 
would  love  you,  and  if  I  loved  you  there  would  not  be 
a  shadow  on  your  heart,  nor  a  variation  in  your  mood 
that  I  should  not  divine.    Do  not  ask  mc  to  love  you. 


l8o  RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 

I  fear  it !    I  am  quiet  now  ;  my  life  is  not  very  sunny, 
but  it  is  free  from  absolute  pain.     Be  wise." 

"I  am  wise,"  interrupted  Wilton  ;  "most  wise  in 
my  resolution  to  let  nothing  turn  me  from  my  purpose; 
and  Ella — for  I  must  speak  to  you  as  I  think  of  you — 
do  not  suppose  I  am  oiTering  you  a  very  brilliant  lot 
when  I  implore  you  to  be  my  wife.  I  am  but  indiffer- 
ently off  as  a  simple  gentleman,  and  will  be  positively 
poor  when  I  have  higher  rank.  Still,  if  you  will  trust 
me — if  you  will  love  me — life  may  be  very  delicious. 
All  that  you  have  said  only  makes  me  more  eager  to 
call  you  my  own.  I  am  not  afraid  of  changing.  I 
have  always  been  true  to  my  friends — why  not  to  my 
love?  It  is  true  that  you  must  take  me  somewhat  on 
my  own  recommendation ;  but  is  there  no  instinctive 
feeling  in  your  heart  that  recognizes  the  sincerity  of 
mine?  I  have  listened  to  all  you  have  said,  and 
simply  repeat — Will  you  be  my  wife,  if  j'ou  are  free 
to  be  so  ?  " 

"  I  will  answer  frankly,  yes.  Oh,  stay,  stay  !  If 
after  six  months'  absence  you  return  and  repeat  the 
question — " 

"  Six  months'  absence  !  You  are  not  speaking  seri- 
ously !  Do  you  think  I  should  consent  to  such  ban- 
ishment ? " 

"  You  must,  Colonel  Wilton,  both  for  your  own 
sake  and  mine.     I  must  be  sure  that  the  feelings  you 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  jgi 

think  so  deep  will  stand  some  test ;  you  ought  to 
prove  your  real  need  of  me  by  absence,  by  steeping 
yourself  in  the  society  of  your  own  class — the  women 
of  your  own  class.     I  have  a  right  to  ask  this." 

"  By  heaven  !  "  cried  Wilton,  "you  are  utterly  cold 
and  indifferent,  or  you  would  not  put  me  to  so  cruel  a 
proof.' 

Ella  was  silent,  and  tears  stood  in  her  eyes,  while 
Wilton  went  on.  "Think  of  six  months  !  six  months 
swept  clean  off  the  few  years  of  youth  and  love  and 
happiness  we  have  before  us  !  It  is  reckless  waste  I 
Hear  me  in  turn  ;  give  up  this  purgatory  !  go  back  to 
your  friendly  landlady.  I  will  meet  you  in  London  ; 
in  three  or  four  weeks  at  the  farthest  we  shall  be  man 
and  wife.  T  have  more  than  three  months'  leave  un- 
expired; we  will  go  away  to  Italy,  or  the  south  of 
France.  Ella  !  I  feel  half-mad  at  the  idea  of  such  a 
heaven.     Why  do  you  not  feel  as  I  do  ?  " 

"  No,  I  must  not,  I  will  not,"  said  she,  turning  very 
pale,  and  trembling  excessively,  but  letting  him  hold 
her  hand  in  both  his.  "  I  must  insist  upon  your  sub- 
mitting to  the  test  of  absence,  in  justice  to  me." 

In  vain  Wilton  implored  and  almost  raged  ;  she 
was  evidently  much  shaken  and  disturbed,  but  still 
immovable.  The  utmost  Wilton  could  win  was  the 
shortening  his  time  of  probation  to  three  months,  dur- 
ing which  time  he  was  not  to  write  nor  expect  her  to 


1 82  RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 

write.  If,  at  the  expiration  of  that  period,  he  claimed 
her,  she  would  be  his.  If  he  changed,  he  was  simply 
to  let  the  tryst  go  by  unnoticed.  The  settlement  of 
these  preliminaries  brought  them  very  near  the  en- 
trance of  the  Brosedale  plantations,  whither  Ella  had 
resolutely  bent  her  steps.  Finding  his  eloquence  of 
no  avail,  Wilton  was  rather  moodily  silent. 

"  You  are  angry  ;  you  think  me  unkind,"  said 
Ella,  softly  ;  "  but  however  you  decide  you  will  yet 
thank  me." 

"  You  do  not  feel  as  I  do." 

"Perhaps  not ;  yet  do  not  think  that  it  costs  me 
nothing  to  say  good-by.  You  always  cheered  me.  I 
used  to  look  for  you  when  I  came  out  to  walk,  and 
when  you  used  to  come  and  see  Donald  I  always  felt 
less  alone." 

"  If  you  feel  all  this,  why  do  you  banish  me  ?" 

"  Because  it  is  wisest  and  kindest ;  and  now  good- 
by.  Yes  ;  do  go  !  I  want  to  be  back  in  time  to  grow 
composed  before  Donald  returns." 

"  Dearest,  you  look  awfully  pale.  I  ought  not  to 
keep  you  ;  and  yet  I  cannot  part  with  you."  He  drew 
her  to  him  most  tenderly,  irresistibly  impelled  to 
breathe  his  adieu  on  her  lips. 

"  No,  no,"  she  exclaimed,  drawing  back.  "  I  dare 
not  kiss  you  ;  a  kiss  to  me  would  be  a  marriage  bond  ; 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  183 

do  not  ask  it ;  do  not  hold  me."  He  felt  how  she 
trembled,  and  he  released  her. 

"  One  day,  Ella,  you  will  perhaps  know  how  much 
I  must  love  to  obey  you.     So  it  must  be  good-by  ?  " 

"Yes  ;  and  remember  you  leave  me  perfectly  free. 

0 

I  say  it  with  no  arrogance  or  want  of  feeling,  but  if 
you  do  not  return,  I  shall  not  break  my  heart.  I  shall 
rather  rejoice  that  we  have  escaped  a  great  mistake — 
a  terrible  sorrow — but  if  you  do  come  back — "  A 
soft  blush  stole  over  her  cheek — a  bright  smile.  Wil- 
ton gazed  at  her^  waiting  eagerly  for  the  next  words, 
but  they  did  not  come.  "  Whatever  happens,"  she  re- 
sumed, "  I  shall  always  remember  with  pleasure,  with 
respect,  that  for  once  you  rose  above  the  conventional 
gentleman  into  a  natural,  true  man."  She  gave  him 
her  hand  for  a  moment,  then,  drawing  it  away  from  his 
passionate  kisses,  disappeared  in  the  fast  increasing 
gloom  of  evening  among  the  plantations. 


1 84  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

A     BRIGHT,  blustering  March  morning  was  shin- 
-^^-  ing,  with  a  cold  glitter  over  the  square  of  the 

well-known  B Barracks,  in  that  pleasant,  rackety 

capital,  Dublin,  nearly  three  months  after  the  interview 
last  recorded.  Parade  had  just  been  dismissed,  and 
the  officers  of  the  second  battalion  — th  Rifles  had 
dispersed  to  their  various  occupations  or  engagements, 
with  the  exception  of  a  small  group  which  gathered 
round  an  attractive  fire  in  the  mess-room,  and  dis- 
cussed the  military  and  club  gossip  of  the  hour. 

'^  Will  you  stay  for  the  — th  Dragoons'  ball,  on 
Thursday,  Wilton  t "  said  one  of  the  younger  men  to 
our  friend,  who  was  reading  a  London  paper,  and 
dressed  in  mufti,  evidently  a  guest. 

"And  for  St.  Paddy's  on  the  17th?"  asked  the 
colonel.     "It's  a  dazzling  scene,  and  no  end  of  fun." 

"  I  promised  to  dine  with  the  mess  of  the  — th 
Dragoons  to-night,"  returned  Wilton  ;  "and  I  think  I 
should  like  to  see  their  ball  ;  but  I  must  be  in  Scot- 
land before  the  17th,  so  must  forego  the  humors  of 
St.  Patrick's.     I  see,  colonel,  my  battalion  was  not  to 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  185 

embark  until  the  25th  of  February.  They  cannot 
reach  England  for  another  month.  I  have  a  great 
mind  to  exchange  into  the  regiment  that  is  gone  out 
to  relieve  them.  I  do  not  like  soldiering  in  England 
— there  is  always  work  to  be  done  in  India." 

The  colonel  elevated  his  brows. 

'^  My  dear  fellow,  you  are  desperately  energetic. 
I  should  have  thought  that,  with  your  prospects,  you 
had  done  work  enough." 

"  My  prospects  have  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I 
suppose  there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  the  matter?" 
continued  Wilton,  reflectivel)^,  more  to  himself  than 
to  his  listener. 

"  Difficulty  !  none  whatever.  The  fighting  is  over, 
so  no  one  will  be  afraid  to  stay  at  home  ;  and  I  fancy 
there  is  a  very  uncomfortable  transition-state  before 
the  Anglo-Indian  world." 

"  I  shall  ask  for  extension  of  leave  ;  I  don't  fancy 
joining  the  depot." 

"  How  long  is  Moncrief  to  be  away  ?  " 

"  He  has  three  weeks'  leave — urgent  private 
affairs.  I  am  sure  to  see  him  in  town,  though  I  shall 
only  pass  through,"  remarked  Wilton,  and  relapsed 
into  silence,  scarcely  hearing  the  arguments  of  his 
companion,  who  proved  to  demonstration  that  Wilton 
would  be  a  fool  to  make  any  exchange,  except,  indeed, 


1 86  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

he  could  get  a  chance  of  returning  to  his  old  friends 
of  the  second  battalion. 

Ralph  Wilton  was  looking  thinner  and  graver 
than  formerly,  and  there  was  an  expression  of  anxiety 
and  irritation  in  his  keen  bold  eyes.  While  the  col- 
onel argued,  an  orderly  approached  with  letters,  v;hich 
his  officer  took,  and,  glancing  at  the  addresses, 
handed  two  or  three  to  Wilton.  "  This  is  from  Mon- 
cricf,"  said  he,  opening  an  envelope  directed  in  a 
remarkably  stiff,  legible  hand — "  forwarded  from  Ath- 
garven.  He  is  annoyed  at  missing  me,  and — "  Here 
he  stopped,  and  read  on,  with  knit  brows  and  fixed 
attention,  then  let  the  hand  which  held  the  letter 
drop,  and  stood  wrapped  in  thought. 

"  No  bad  news  ? "  asked  the  colonel. 

'•  Yes — no,"  he  returned,  absently.  "  My  dear 
colonel,  I  must  leave  you  to-day.  I  must  go  up  to 
town  by  this  evening's  mail."' 

"  This  is  very  sudden.  Can't  you  manage  a  day 
or  two  more?  Why,  you  have  only  been  three  weeks 
with  us." 

A  few  words  from  Wilton  convinced  his  friend  and 
host  that,  although  indisposed  to  give  a  reason  for  his 
sudden  move,  its  necessity  was  imperative. 

The  passage  in  Major  Moncrief 's  letter  which  had 
moved  Wilton  was  as  follows  : 

"  Town  is  very  full ;  the  club  brimming  over  ;  din- 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  187 

tiers  going  a-begging — and,  talking  of  dinners,  I  met 
our  Monkscleugh  acquaintance,  Lady  Fergusson,  in 
Regent  Street,  yesterday.  She  was  in  deep  mourn- 
ing ;  it  seems  that  unfortunate  son  and  heir  died 
about  a  month  ago.  Sir  Peter  is  in  great  grief;  the 
establishment  at  Brosedale  broken  up,  and  the*  whole 
family  en  route  for  Germany.  I  wonder  what  has 
become  of  the  pretty  lassie  you  picked  up  in  the 
snow  !  I  was  always  afraid  of  your  getting  into  some 
mess  with  her ;  but  you  iiave  more  sense  than  I  gave 
you  credit  for." 

The  Brosedale  establishment  broken  up  !  and  not 
a  line — not  a  word — from  Ella.  Where  had  she 
gone  ?  Did  she  wish  to  avoid  him  ?  In  four  days 
more  the  three  months'  absence  prescribed  by  Ella 
would  have  expired,  and  now  he  was  thrown  off  the 
scent.  Had  she  sought  and  found  any  new  employ- 
ment ?  If  in  her  heart  she  distrusted  his  constancy 
as  much  as  she  professed,  she  might  have  done  so  ;  or 
had  she  returned  to  that  London  landlady  whom  she 
had  described  on  the  memorable  occasion  of  the 
snow-storm  ?  Hold  !  he  had  noted  the  address  some- 
where. This  led  to  a  vehement  search  among  his 
papers  and  memoranda  ;  but  in  vain.  Then  he  sat 
down  and  thought  intensely.  Kershaw  ? — yes,  that 
was  the  name  of  the  woman  ;  and  Gothic  Villa  the 
name  of  the  house   at  Kensington  ;  but   the   street, 


1 88  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

that  he  could  not  recall ;  nevertheless,  he  would  not 
leave  a  corner  of  the  "  old  court  suburb  "  unexplored. 
With  this  resolution  he  started  on  his  journey — the 
mere  movement  raised  his  spirits  and  invigorated 
him  ;  anything  was  better  than  the  silence  and  endur- 
ance of  the  last  three  months. 

He  had  parted  with  Ella  Rivers  in  a  mood  curi- 
ously compounded  of  love,  anger,  slightly-mortified 
vanity,  but  deep  admiration.  He  felt  that  she  had  a 
right  to  demand  some  test  »f  a  passion  so  sudden  ; 
and,  without  words,  her  grave  candor  had  impressed 
upon  him  the  conviction  that,  in  asking  her  to  share 
his  life,  he  asked  quite  as  much  as  he  offered — a  con- 
viction not  always  clear  to  men,  even  when  in  love. 
Then  the  respect  which  her  self-control,  her  noble 
simplicity,  imposed  upon  him,  deepened  and  elevated 
the  character  of  his  affection.  Above  all,  she  was 
still  to  be  won.  She  had  allowed  him  to  hope  ;  but  he 
dared  not  flatter  himself  that  she  loved  him — and 
how  wonderfully  he  yearned  for  her  love  ! — he  was 
astonished  at  it  himself.  All  life  seemed  empty  and 
colorless  without  her.  About  three  weeks  after  he 
had  left  Glenraven,  he  had  written  to  let  her  know 
that  he  had  accepted  an  invitation  to  Ireland,  where 
he  intended  to  make  some  stay  and  visit  his  former 
brother-officer.s,  seizing  gladly  the  excuse  afforded  by 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  189 

this  change  of  locality ;  but  he  had   quickly  received 
the  following  reply : 

"You  must  faithfully  keep  the  promise  you  have 
given.  Do  not  in  any  way  seek  me  for  three  or  four 
months.  -Meantime,  I  am  well  and  not  unhappy. 
Whether  we  meet  again  or  not,  I  shall  ever  think  of 
you  kindly.  May  the  good  God  guide  us  to  what  is 
happiest  and  best  for  both  ! 

^'Always  your  friend, 

"Ella  Rivers." 

The   small,  straight,  firm  writing  was  kissed   again 
and  again,  even  while  he  chafed  against  her  firmness. 
This   touch    of  the  true  magnet  had  drawn  all    the 
atoms  of  romance,  of  nobility,  of  perception  of  spiritual 
and  intellectual  light,  which  lay  scattered,  not  sparingly, 
among   the   coarser  material  of  the   man,  into  sym- 
metrical circles  converging  to  one  centre.     He   was 
softened  and  strengthened.     He  resolved  to  obey  Ella 
to   the   letter  ;  and   his  brother-officers    noticed  that 
Wilton  was  much  more  ready  for  balls  and  dinners 
and  luncheon-parties  than  formerly  j  for  his  character 
had  been  rather   that   of   a  "  reserved,  quiet  fellow, 
with  a  devil  of  a   temper   when  roused."     He    was, 
nevertheless,    a  favorite,  as   straightforward,    plucky 
men,  who  never  "  shirk  their  fences "  in  any  sense, 
generally  are.     The  neighborhood,  too,  where  Wilton's 
visit  was  made,  was  unusually  wealthy  and  aristocratic 


IQO 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


for  Ireland,  so  that  he  had  ample  opportunities  for 
"  steeping"  himself  in  the  society  of  people  of  his  ov/n 
class.  The  result,  however,  was  that  the  impression 
he  had  received  sank  deeper  and  more  abidingly  as 
time  went  on.  And  now,  when  this  fresh  difficulty 
arose,  he  sprang  forward  upon  the  search  with  all  the 
eagerness  of  a  sleuth-hound  suddenly  released  from  his 
chain. 

It  was  in  the  dim  gray  of  a  cold,  drizzling  morning 
that  Wilton  reached  Morley's  Hotel.  After  a  bath 
and  breakfast,  he  sallied  forth,  in  search  of  Moncrief. 
During  his  long  night-journey  he  had  taken  counsel 
with  himself  as  to  how  he  should  proceed.  He  would 
learn  Lady  Fergusson's  present  address,  and  endeavor 
to  ascertain  from  her  what  had  become  of  Ella.  How 
he  was  to  accomplish  this  without  rousing  her  lady- 
ship's suspicions,  he  would  leave  to  the  inspiration  of 
the  moment  ;  for  it  was  no  part  of  his  scheme  to 
unmask  his  movements  until  he  could  really  fix  his 
plans.  This  could  not  be  done  till  he  had  seen  Ella 
and  received  a  renewal  of  her  promise  ;  or — terrible 
alternative — been  rejected  and  overthrown  J  Her 
unaccountable  silence  was  cruel,  unfeeling,  and  a 
clear  breach  of  faith.  Why  had  she  not  written  to 
announce  so  material  a  change  of  circumstances  ? 
Had  any  of  the  pestilent  political  crew  that  used  to 

surround  her  father  started   up  to  exercise  an   evil 
1^* 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  191 

influence  ?  The  idea  fired  him  with  indignation.  He 
had  so  delighted  in  thinking  of  her  as  his  alone — a 
hidden  jewel,  the  lustre  and  value  and  beauty  of  which 
were  for  him  only  !  Meditating  thus,  he  reached  the 
frugal  major's  lodgings,  as  he  did  not  wish  at  present 
to  confront  the  publicity  of  a  club.  But  his  friend 
bad  not  yet  emerged  from  the  privacy  of  his  chamber, 
and  there  was  only  a  dingy  back-parlor,  a  sort  of 
general  waiting-room,  into  which  he  could  be  shown. 
Wilton  therefore  wrote  hastily  on  his  card,  "  What 
is  Lady  Fergusson's  address  in  town  ? ''  and  sent  it 
up  to  Moncrief;  receiving  it  back  again  in  a  few 
minutes,  with  this  inscription  on  the  reverse  \  "  Cla- 
ridge's ;  but  I  think  they  are  gone.  Dine  with  me 
to-day  at  the  club — seven,  sharp." 

Leaving  word  that  he  could  not  dine  with  Major 
Moncrief,  Wilton  left  the  house  in  a  state  of  irritability 
and  depression,  and  bent  his  steps  to  Claridge's  ; 
early  as  it  was,  he  might  at  least  make  inquiries  there. 
A  yawning  porter,  who  was  sweeping  the  hall,  called 
a  waiter,  who  informed  him  that  "  Sir  Peter  and  Lady 
Fergusson,  the  Misses  Saville  and  suite,"  had  started 
for  Paris  the  day  before. 

"  And  suite  ! "  echoed  Wilton  ;  "  I  suppose  that 
includes  the  governess  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir  ;   there  was  a  lady  as  went   with  the 


IQ2  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

youngest  lady  in  one  of  the  hotel  broughams;  she 
was  the  governess." 

"  Was  she  a  tall,  thin  lady,  with  spectacles  ?  " 

"  Just  so,  sir." 

"  No  other  lady  with  them  ?  " 

"  No,  sir — none." 

Nothing  more  to  be  learned  there !  He  was  quite 
afloat.  No  clue  to  the  girl  who  he  had  hoped  would 
be,  two  days  hence,  his  affianced  bride,  beyond  the 
vague  address,  "Mrs.  Kershaw,  Gothic  Villa,  Ken- 
sington." He  made  his  way  slowly  into  Piccadilly 
and  hailed  a  hansom.  Kensington  must  be  the  scene 
of  his  research,  and  the  sooner  he  plunged  into  it  the 
better. 

How  to  begin  occupied  his  thoughts  as  he  bowled 
along.  Shops,  police,  and  jDOstmen,  seemed  the  most 
likely  sources  of  information  ;  failing  these,  he  must 
manage  to  communicate  with  Miss  Walker,  who  would 
certainly  know  Ella's  whereabouts.  However,  he  had 
great  faith  in  himself;  it  was  not  the  first  time  he  had 
to  hunt  up  a  faint  track,  though  the  difficulties  were  of 
a  far  different  character. 

"  Here  we  are  !  Where  to  now,  sir?"  cried  Cab- 
by, through  the  hole  at  the  top. 

"  Oh  !  a — the  nearest  butcher's,"  said  Wilton. 
"Bread  and  meat  and  tea,"  he  reflected,  "the  hum- 
blest landlady  must  require;"  and,  proud  of  his  own 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  103 

reasoning  powers,  he  dismissed  the  cab,  never  remem- 
bering— probably  not  knowing — the  ready-money 
system,  which,  paying  the  amount  and  carrying  off 
the  article,  "  leaves  not  a  wrack  behind." 

The  important  and  substantial  butcher,  struck  by 
the  lordly  bearing  of  his  interrogator,  condescended 
to  repeat  the  words  "  Gothic  Villa  "  in  several  keys, 
as  though  the  reiteration  would  evoke  knowledge,  but 
ended  with,  "  Can't  say  I  know  any  such  place,  sir. — 
Here,  Smith  "  —  to  a  blue-gowned  assistant,  with 
rolled-up  sleeves,  who  was  adding  "one  leg  more  "  to 
an  artistically  arranged  fringe  of  legs  of  mutton 
which  adorned  the  cornice — ■"  do  you  know  anything 
of  '  Mrs.  Kershaw,  Gothic  Villa?'" 

"  Kershaw  ! "  replied  the  man,  pausing — "  I  seems 
as  if  I  do,  and  yet  I  don't." 

At  this  maddening  reply,  Wilton  felt  disposed  to 
collar  him  and  rouse  his  memory  by  a  sound  shaking, 

"  The  person  I  want  lets  lodgings;  and  is,  I  think, 
elderly." 

"  No,  I  don't,"  repeated  the  butcher's  assistant. 
"  I  know  Gothic  'all." 

"  Ay,"  struck  in  the  master,  "  and  Gothic  'Ouse 
and  Gothic  Lodge,  but  no  willar.  I  know  the  place 
well,  sir,  and  I  don't  think  there  is  a  Gothic  Wilier  in 
it.  P'r'aps  it's  lodge,  not  wilier,  you  are  looking 
for?" 

13 


194 


RALPH  WILTON'S  IVEIRD. 


"  Then  who  lives  at  these  other  Gothics  ? " 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Reynolds,  the  great  ironmonger,  has  the 
'all ;  and  the  honorable  Mrs.  Croker  lives  at  the 
lodge." 

"  Well,  neither  of  these  names  can  possibly  be 
converted  into  Kershaw.  I  am  sorry  I  troubled 
you." 

"  No  trouble  at  all,  sir." 

Patiently,  though  anxiously,  Wilton  went  from 
butcher  to  baker,  from  baker  to  butterman,  from  but- 
terman  to  milkshop,  until  he  suddenly  exclaimed  at 
his  own  stupidity,  as  his  eye  was  caught  by  a  con- 
spicuous brass  plate  bearing  the  inscription,  "  Mr. 
Mayers,  Gas-Inspector."  "  By  Jove  !  "  cried  Wilton, 
aloud,  "  that  is  the  fellow  to  know  everv  house  in  the 
parish.  Why  did  I  not  think  of  a  gas-inspector 
before  ?  " 

He  rang,  and  a  smart  young  woman  appeared  at 
the  door  in  a  few  moments. 

In  his  uncertainty  whether  he  was  speaking  to  the 
wife  or  the  handmaid  of  Mayers,  Wilton  politely  raised 
his  hat,  and  asked  if  he  could  see  the  master  of  the 
house. 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  sir,  he  is  out,  and  will  not  be 
here  till  tea-time." 

"And  when  will  that  be?"  asked  the  anxious 
querist,  smiling  blandly. 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD.  195 

"Oh,  not  till  half-past  five.  Could  I  give  any 
message?"  replied  the  lady,  much  impressed  by  the 
grand  air  and  chivalrous  courtesy  of  her  Interlocutor. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  trouble  Mr.  Mayers  myself. 
I  shall  not  detain  him  beyond  a  moment  or  two,  if  he 
will  be  so  good  as  to  see  me  about  half-past  five." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  he  will  be  in  then  and  very  happy  to 
see  you." 

"  Perhaps  you  happen  to  know  where  Gothic  Villa 
is  in  this  neighborhood.  I  am  looking  for  a  Mrs. 
Kershaw,  Gothic  Villa." 

"  Kershaw  ?  Gothic  Villa  ?  No,  indeed,  I  do  not. 
I  have  very  few  acquaintances  here ;  you  see  people 
are  rather  mixed  in  Kensington." 

"  I  will  not  keep  you  standing — at  five-thirty, 
then,"  returned  Wilton,  raising  his  hat,  and  smiling  as 
he  said  to  himself,  "  Madame  the  gas-inspectress  is 
exclusive.  Such  caricatures  ought  to  cure  the  follies 
they  travesty."  He  looked  at  his  watch.  Two 
hours  and  a  half  to  spare.  What  should  he  do  ? 
Make  any  further  search,  or  rely  on  the  gas-inspector? 
Yes  ;  he  would  be  sure  to  know.  So^  after  a  moment's 
thought,  he  again  called  a  hansom,  and  rattled  back  to 
the  club  ;  but  Major  Moncrief  was  not  there.  Hastily 
scribbling  an  invitation  to  breakfast  next  day,  he  went 
on  to  his  hotel  to  snatch  a  mouthful  of  luncheon  or 
dinner,  or  both,  for  he  still  hoped   to  spend  the  re- 


Iq6  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

mainder  of  the  evening  exchanging  vows,  explanations 
— perhaps  kisses — with  Ella  Rivers.  He  had  by  some 
unreasonable  process  of  thought  convinced  himself 
that  she  could  have  taken  refuge  in  no  other  haven 
than  the  somewhat  unromantic  dwelling  of  Mrs. 
Kershaw. 

As  the  half-hour  struck,  Wilton  rang  again  at  the 
gas-inspector's  house.  He  was  received  by  the  same 
lady  most  graciously,  and  ushered  into  an  oppressively 
smart  front  parlor,  profusely  decorated  with  anti-ma- 
cassars, and  mats,  and  table-covers. 

"  Mr.  Mayers  will  be  here  directly ;  he  has  only 
just  come  in.  What  a  disagreeable  day  it  has  been — 
drizzle,  drizzle,  the  whole  time !  I  couldn't  venture  out," 
simpered  Mrs.  Mayers,  who  was  disposed  to  improve 
the  occasion  by  a  little  conversation  with  her  "  stylish 
visitor,"  as  she  described  him  to  her  husband.  Wilton 
assented  rather  absently,  and  then,  to  his  great  relief, 
Mr.  Mayers  came  in.  After  a  few  words  of  apology, 
Wilton  put  the  oft-repeated  question. 

"  Kershaw,  Gothic  Villa  }  "  repeated  Mr.  Mayers, 
meditating.  "  Yes,  of  course,  I  know  wellnigh  every 
house  ;  and  it  so  happened  I  was  at  Mrs.  Kershaw's 

a  week  or  ten  days  back.     Why,  it  is  in  H Street, 

not    far  from  Holland  Park.     You    must    turn  right 
from  this,  then  first  to   your  right,  and  tliird  to  the 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 


197 


left.     Gothic  Villa   is  down   the  end  of    the   street, 
opposite  a  dead  wall." 

With  many  thanks  and  apologies,  Wilton  bowed 
himself  out,  and  walked  away  rapidly,  his  heart  beat- 
ing high  at  the  idea  of  the  meeting  so  near  at  hand. 

Gothic  Villa  was  not  a  lively  residence  ;  and,  what 
was  worse,  it  looked  untidy.  The  box  borders  looked 
as  if  lately  trodden  down  in  patches  ;  the  bell  was 
broken,  and  the  gate  hung  awry,  refusing,  afier  the 
fashion  of  crooked  things,  to  do  one  Ihing  or  the  other 
— to  open  wide  or  shut  close.  Wilton  felt  unutterably 
shocked  at  the  melancholy,  sordid  aspect  of  the  place. 
The  bell  being  broken,  he  felt  at  a  loss  how  to  summon 
the  garrison  ;  but  while  he  hesitated,  two  little  girls, 
in  short  frocks,  dingy  stockings,  and  battered  hats, 
came  up  bowling  their  hoops,  and  began  rattling  their 
hoop-sticks  noisily  against  the  railings,  whereupon  the 
front-door  was  flung  suddenly  wide  open,  aud  a  grimy 
servant  began  to  shout  some  objurgations  to  the 
juveniles. 

"  Pray,   does   Mrs.    Kershaw   live   here  ? "  asked 
Wilton,  advancing  to  the  door. 

"  No  ;  there's  no  such  name  here." 

For  a  moment  Wilton  felt  annihilated. 

"  She  used  to  live  here  ?  " 

"  P'r'aps  so  ;  we've  not  been  here  above  a  week, 
and  I  wish  we  was  out  of  it." 


IqS  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"  And  do  you  know  where  Mrs.  Kershaw  is  gone  ? " 

"No,  that  I  don't." 

After  a  little  talking,  she  suggested  that  "  missus  " 
might  know  j  but  that  potentate,  on  being  appealed 
to,  confessed  ignorance,  stating,  however,  that  "  mas- 
ter" might  know;  but  "master"  was  absent,  and 
would  not  be  back  till  to-morrow  morning.  More 
Wilton  could  not  extract  ;  and  he  most  reluctantly 
left  the  long-sought  villa,  informing  the  inmates  that 
he  would  call  next  day,  hoping  that  "  master"  might 
be  able  to  supply  the  desired  information. 

Still,  with  unshaken  perseverance,  Wilton  lingered 
about.  He  stopped  the  postman,  but  he  had  had  no 
letter  since  the  new  people  moved  in  for  Mrs.  Ker- 
shaw. She  had  very  few  letters  at  any  lime — still  she 
had  some.  There  was  another  postman  that  took  the 
noonday  delivery,  he  might  know.  When  did  he  go 
round  ?  Oh,  from  twelve  to  twelve-thirty.  He  might 
know,  and  he  mightn't.  Addresses  were  not  given  to 
the  letter-carriers,  but  left  at  the  district  Office. 

''Ah!  then  I  may  probably  find  this  Mrs.  Ker- 
shaw's whereabouts  at  the  post-office  ?  " 

"No,  no,  sir,"  said  the  man;  "they  won't  give 
you  no  addresses  at  the  office,  and  the  letters  is  sent 
on  to  the  district  where  the  party  has  moved  ;  so  it's 
a  chance  if  any  of  us  knows." 

"  At  any  rate,  I  shall  be  here  to-morrow  to  meet 


RALPH  WILTON'S   WEIRD.  jgc) 

the  twelve  o'clock  man  ;  meantime  I  am  obliged 
to  you." 

So  saying,  Wilton  deposited  a  judicious  tip  in  the 
carrier's  willing  hand,  and  made  for  the  main  road, 
hoping  that  a  favorable  report  of  him  would  be 
given  to  the  other  carrier,  and  predispose  him  to  be 
communicative. 

It  was  long  before  Wilton  forgot  the  oppressive 
monotony  of  that  evening.  He  could  not  bring  him- 
self to  seek  out  Moncrief  He  would  have  him  at 
breakfast,  and  that  was  bad  enough.  He  strolled 
into  the  Adelphi,  and  felt  savage  at  the  pathos  of  the 
play,  and  the  fun  of  the  afterpiece.  He  left  before  it 
was  finished,  and  returned  to  the  coffee-room.  He 
tried  to  sketch  out  an  advertisement  addressed  to  Mrs. 
Kershaw,  but  intended  for  Ella.  He  vexed  himself 
with  all  kinds  of  conjectures,  and  finally  retired,  hop- 
ing for  oblivion  in  sleep,  which  did  not  come  for  some 
weary  hours  ;  and  his  last  waking  thought  was  that  to- 
morrow would  be  the  19th  of  March,  the  day  of  the  tryst, 
which  he  had  so  often  pictured  to  himself  And  here 
he  was  in  total  ignorance  of  Ella's  dwelling — not  a 
step  nearer  to  the  desired  interview.  The  following 
day  was  not  much  brighter  than  the  one  just  described, 
and  Wilton  rose  with  an  unspeakable  loathing  for 
breakfast  and  Moncrief — especially  Moncrief 

However,  both  had  to  be  endured.     The  major  was 


200  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

considerably  puzzled  by  his  entertainer's  preoccupa- 
tion and  testiness.  Every  subject  seemed  distasteful, 
every  person  more  or  less  offensive. 

"  What's  come  to  you,  lad  ?  "  asked  the  old  soldier. 
"  Are  you  in  debt  again  ?  I  thought  you  had  left  that 
class  of  troubles  behind  you  ;  and  you  seem  to  have 
been  quiet  and  steady  enough  of  late." 

"  No,  I  am  not  in  debt." 

"Well,  I  do  not  think  you  are  in  love  ;  and  love, 
or  money,  is  at  the  bottom  of  most  troubles — eh  ? " 

An  inaudible  muttering  was  the  only  reply. 

"A  —  idiot  ?  "  repeated  the  major,  thinking  he 
caught  the  sound.  ''No,  by  no  means.  I  never  said 
so,  though  there  hav€  been  times  when  I  was  afraid 
you  would  act  like  one.  Have  you  seen  the  vis- 
count ? " 

"  No." 

"I  suppose  you  are  going  to  call  on  him  ? " 

"  No,  I  am  not." 

"  Then  you  are  rather  an  idiot.  Why  will  you  throw 
away  fortune  .-'  " 

"  I  am  not  throwing  it  away.     He  is  out  of  town." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  and  pay  him  a  visit? " 

"  I  cannot  ;  he  has  not  asked  me." 

"  Not  asked  you — bosh  ! — " 

"  Moncrief,"  interrupted  ^Vil(on,  "  will  you  take 
some  more  l^idney,  or  ham,  or  coffee,  or  anything  ?  " 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  201 

"  No,  thank  you  ;  I  have  breakfasted  well." 
"  Then  go,  will  you  ?  like  a  good  fellow.  You  are 
partly  right.  I  am  in  a  pickle.  You  shall  know  all 
about  it  one  of  these  days,  but  I  cannot  tell  you  just 
now.  I  have  an  appointment  at — that  is,  I  must  be 
at  Kensington  at  twelve." 

"  At  twelve  !     Bless  my  soul,  man,  it  is  scarcely 
half-past  ten  now." 


202  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

THE  afternoon  of  the  same  day  was  lowering, 
bleak,  and  drear,  as  a  young  girl,  in  a  long  black 
dress  fitting  close  to  her  slight  figure,  and  relieved  at 
throat  and  wrists  by  a  plaiting  of  white  crape,  entered 
a  small  sitting-room  at  the  back  of  one  of  a  row  of 
brand-new  residences  in  the  cardboard,  Tudor  style, 
inlaid  with  colored  bricks,  and  further  relieved  by 
oriel  windows. 

The  young  lady  carried  a  cup  full  of  violets,  and 
set  it  upon  a  table  which  had  been  moved  into  the 
window.  It  was  crowded  with  materials  for  water- 
color  drawing.  A  very  graceful  design  suited  to  a 
portfolio  lay  partly  colored  where  the  light  fell 
strongest. 

The  young  lady,  or  rather  Ella  Rivers,  stood  look- 
ing at  her  work  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  sitting 
down,  witii  a  deep  sigh,  took  up  her  brush,  first  bend- 
ing lovingly  over  the  violets  until  her  face  touched 
them. 

She  was  exceedingly  pale — the  pallor  of  thought 
and  sorrow.     Her  eyes,  which  looked  larger  than  they 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  203 

used — perhaps  because  she  had  grown  thinner — ^had  a 
weary,  wistful  expression,  which   gave  pathos  to  the 
quiet  sadness  of  her  face  and  figure.     The  last  month 
had  tried  her  sorely.     The  sudden,  fatal  illness  of 
Donald  had  caused  her  immense  bodily  fatigue  and 
real  sorrow.     She  had  grown  to  love  the  afflicted,  way- 
ward boy,  even  more  than  she  knew  ;  and  he  could 
not  bear  her  out  of  his  sight,  finally  breathing  his  last 
in  her  arms.      Then,  not  understanding   the   terms 
which    existed   between   Wilton    and    the    Fergusson 
family,  Ella  never  doubted  that  he  was  aware  from  the 
first  of  poor  Sir  Peter's  bereavement  and  the  conse- 
quent removal  of  the  family.     His  silence  under  such 
circumstances,  the  absence  of  any  attempt  to  seek  her 
out,  was,  to  her,  conclusive  evidence  that  his  sudden, 
violent  affection  for  herself  had  passed  away.     Arriv- 
ing at  this  conviction  showed  her  how  fondly,  although 
unconsciously,  she  had  hoped  for  his  constancy.    When 
Wilton  astonished  and  agitated  her  by  his  unexpected 
avowal,  she  had  most  truly  told  him  that  she  did  not 
love  him,  that  his  triith  or  constancy  was  not  essential 
to  her  happiness.     His  frank  kindness,  and  the  inter- 
est he  had  shown  in  her  art  and  her  conversation,  had 
touched  and  diverted  her.     Feeling  keenly  the  insur- 
mountable barrier  of  caste,  which  her  reason  scorn- 
fully resented,  the  possibility  of  a  man  of  his  grade 
being  her  lover  never  crossed  her  mind.     Moreover, 


204 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 


the  habits  of  her  life  accustomed  her  to  men  as  com- 
panions, as  friends,  ahnost  as  playfellows,  but  never  as 
lovers,  Wilton  was  therefore  to  her  at  first  an. agree- 
able, intelligent,  though  mistaken  man,  blinded  to  the 
great  truths  of  his  age  by  his  position  and  his  profes- 
sion, but  who,  under  higher  direction,  might  have  been 
worthy  the  friendship  of  her  father,  Diego,  and  the 
rest  of  the  exalted  society  who  passed  their  lives  pro- 
pagating theories  of  political  perfection  and  escaping 
the  police. 

After  the  wonderful  interview  by  the  cairn,  where 
he  had  shown  that,  although  past  the  boy-lover  period, 
he  was  ready  to  cast  all  consideration  for  rank  and 
riches  to  the  winds  for  her  sake,  she  had  estimated 
him  very  differently.  From  his  first  words  of  love  she 
shrunk  with  an  agony  she  could  not  express,  so  certain 
was  she  that  they  must  mean  insult;  but  when  his 
letter  told  her  the  depth  and  sincerity  of  his  affection, 
and  she  listened  to  the  magic  of  his  earnest  pleading, 
she  felt  bewildered  and  almost  frightened  at  the  ardor 
of  the  feeling  she  had  evoked.  She  could  not  quite 
believe  him.  She  trembled  at  the  idea  of  his  hurrying 
into  the  irrevocable,  which  he  might  afterward  regret; 
and  the  more  she  felt  her  heart  inclined  to  yield,  the 
more  resolutely  she  held  to  her  determination,  for  both 
their  sakes,  to  test  the  reality  of  his  affection. 

But  when  he  was  gone^  when  she  was  left  alone 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  20$ 

with  the  memor)?  of  his  persuasive  voice — of  his  bold 
brown  eyes,  softened  into  tenderness — of  the  passion 
which  glowed  through  the  earnest  respect  of  his  man- 
ner— whatever  of  indifference  she  had  felt  or  assumed 
in  their  interview  fast  faded  away,  or  rather  warmed 
into  real  interest,  and  trembling,  half-fearful  liking. 
Then  the  question  of  his  constancy  assumed  an 
absorbing  importance.  The  perpetual  struggle  in  her 
mind  to  resist  the  delightful  suggestions  of  hope  kept 
the  subject  constantly  Ijefore  her;  and  the  bitterest 
trial  she  had  ever  known  was  the  gradual  fading  away 
of  the  hopes  that  had  formed  themselves  in  spite  of 
her,  when  week  after  week  slipped  past  and  no  tidings 
reached  her  from  Ralph  Wilton.  Of  course  he  knew 
that  she  must  leave  Brosedale,  and  must  also  know 
that  under  no  circumstances  would  she  take  the  first 
step  toward  the  renewal  of  their  intercourse. 

Working  round  this  dreary  circle  of  thought,  she 
sat  motionless,  pencil  in  hand,  too  absorbed  to  notice 
the  entrance  of  a  woman  of  a  certain  age,  who  by  her 
costume  evidently  aimed  at  the  higher  appellation  ot 
a  lady.  She  wore  a  handsome  plum-colored  silk,  a 
tint  which  appears  to  be  the  especial  favorite  of  pub- 
licans' wives  and  aspiring  landladies.  Her  head — a 
high,  narrow,  self-asserting  sort  of  head — was  perched 
on  a  long,  thin  neck,  and  adorned  with  a  scanty  screw 
of  hair  on  the  top,  secured  by  a  high  tortoise-shell 


2o6  RALPH  WILTON'S  WELRD. 

comb,  while  the  front  tresses  were  disposed  in  short, 
wiry  ringlets,  painfully  suggestive  of  steel  springs,  and 
carefully  regulated  by  ancient  contrivances  called 
side-combs.  These  locks  vibrated  when  she  moved; 
and  as  her  walk  was  a  succession  of  jerky  sinkings 
and  risings,  the  ringlets  had  an  active  time  of  it.  Her 
features  were  regular  and  good,  but  somewhat  neu- 
tralized by  a  faint  expression  of  constantly  turning  up 
her  nose,  which  was  anything  but  fctroussc,  as  if  in 
contemptuous  indignation  at  the  futile  efforts  of  the 
world  in  general  to  take  her  in.  This  personage 
paused  as  she  was  half  across  the  little  room,  and 
looked  very  sharply  at  its  occupant's  profile,  which 
was  turned  to  her. 

v"  Anyways,  you  ain't  breaking  your  heart  with  hard 
work,"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  tone  which  would  have 
been  painfully  acute  but  for  a  slight  indistinctness 
caused  by  a  melancholy  gap  where  pearly  front  teeth 
ousht  to  have  been. 

Ella  started  at  her  voice,  and  a  large  tear,  which 
some  time,  unknown  to  her,  had  hung  upon  her  eye- 
lashes, fell  upon  the  edge  of  her  paper.  She  looked 
at  it  dismayed  ;  half  an  inch  nearer,  and  it  would 
have  played  havoc  with  her  colors.  She  hastily 
placed  her  handkerchief  on  the  fatal  spot,  and,  turning 
toward  the  speaker,  said,  absently  :  "  Working  !     Yes, 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  207 

Mrs.  Kershaw  ;  I  am  succeeding  tolerably  with   this 
design ;  I  am  quite  interested  in  it." 

"  And  that  is  tlie  reason  you  are  crying  over  it 
—eh  ?  " 

"  Crying  !  Oh,  no  "—smiling  a  little  sadly— '■'  I 
am  not  crying." 

"  Something  very  like  it,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Kershaw, 
advancing  to  the  table  and  looking  critically  at  Ella's 
work.  "  It's  a  queer  thing,"  she  remarked,  with  high- 
toned  candor.     "  What  is  it  for  1  " 

"Oh,  the  cover  of  a  book,  or— the  back  of  a 
portfolio." 

'^We!l,  I  suppose  it's  my  ignorance;  but  I  can't 
see  the  beauty  of  it.  Why,  there's  dozens  and  dozens 
of  things  just  like  that  ready  printed  in  all  the  shops  ; 
and  you  don't  suppose  hand-work  can  hold  its  own 
with  machine-work  ?  Why  don't  you  paint  a  house, 
and  a  tree,  and  a  cow — something  sensible-like — that 
would  set  off  a  nice,  handsome  frame  ?  I  wouldn't 
mind  buying  such  a  picture  myself  3  my  first  floor  is  a 
trifle  naked  for  want  of  pictures." 

"  O  Mrs.  Kershaw !  "  exclaimed  EUa^  smiling,  this 
time  more  brightly,  for  she  was  amused  at  her  friend's 
notions  of  art ;  "  I  assure  you  an  original  design  is 
not  to  be  despised.     If  I  can  but  find  favor  with — " 

"  Ay,  that's  just  it.  It  would  take  a  heap  of  bits 
of  pictures  to  make  a  living.     I  must  say  I  think  you 


2o8  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

was  a  fool  not  to  look  out  for  something  steady  right 
off,  when  the  ladies  as  could  have  recommended  you 
was  here  ;  this  will  be  hard  work  and  poor  work." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  am  determined  to  try  it,"  said  Ella, 
firmly,  though  sadly.  "  You  cannot  tell  the  imprison- 
ment a  great  house  is  to  me;  besides, you  forget  poor 
Sir  Peter  Fergusson*s  generosity.  I  can  afford  to 
board  with  you  for  six  or  eight  months,  and  then,  if 
all  my  efforts  to  earn  my  bread  by  my  art  fail,  I  can 
still  ask  Miss  Walker's  help.  I  am  not  in  your  way, 
good  friend,  am  1 1  " 

"  Well,  no,  I  am  not  that  selfish,  like  many,  as 
would  try  to  keep  you  here  when  it  would  be  better 
for  you  to  be  away  ;  but  you  are  not  like  other  girls, 
the  place  is  different  when  you  are  in  it ;  and  the  trifle 
you  pay  is  more  than  the  trifle  difference  you  make. 
It  was  about  yourself — what  is  best  for  you — I  was 
thinking." 

"Do'not  think  of  me,"  returned  Ella,  placing  her 
elbow  on  the  table  and  resting  her  head  on  her  hand 
despondently  ;  "  I  am  so  weary  of  myself" 

"  Now  there  is  something  come  to  you  quite  dif- 
ferent from  what  used  to  be.  And  you  are  that  pale 
and  thin,  and  don't  eat  nothing.  There's  some  of 
those  grandedees  "  (such  was  Mrs.  Kershaw's  pronun- 
ciation) "been  talking  nonsense,  and  you  have  been, 
and  gone,  and   been  fool   enough   to  heed  them,  in 


RALPH  IVJLTOy'S  WEIRD. 


209 


spite  of  all  the  talking  to  I  gave  you  before  you  went 
to  Sir  Peter's.  They  are  all  alike.  If  you  was  a 
hangel,  with  a  wing  sprouting  out  of  each  shoulder, 
and  as  beautiful  as — as  anythink,  the  poorest  scrap' 
of  a  gentleman  among  them  that  hadn't  as  much 
gumption  as  would  earn  a  crust  costermongering 
would  laugh  at  the  notion  of  putting  a  ring  on  your 
finger.  No,  no  ;  as  much  love  as  you  like  without 
that.  I  knows  'em,  the  proud,  upsetting,  lazy  lot,  I 
do;"  and  Mrs.  Kershaw  stopped  with  a  jerk,  more 
for  want  of  breath  than  lack  of  matter. 

"  You  need  not  distress  yourself,"  returned  Ella, 
with  a  smile  of  quiet  scorn.  "  No  one  insulted  me  at 
Brosedale  ;  and  I  did  keep  your  good  advice  in  mind. 
I  am  depressed,  nor  can  you  wonder  at  it  when  you 
think  of  the  sad  scenes  I  went  through  with  poor 
Donald." 

"Well,  well,  anyhow  you  won't  open  your  mind  to 
me,  though  I  fancy  I  am  your  best  friend,  and  your 
only  friend  into  the  bargain,  though  I  say  it  as 
shouldn't,''  retorted  Mrs.  Kershaw,  with  some  asperity. 

"  You  are,  indeed,"  said  Ella,  sweetly.  "  So 
instead  of  quarelling  with  me  for  not  telling  you  a  ro- 
mantic tale,  tell  me  some  of  your  own  affairs  ;  any 
one  about  the  rooms  yet  ?  " 

"I   believe,"  said  Mrs.   Kershaw,   a   shade   less 

severely — "I  believe  I'm  let." 
14 


210  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

This  startling  announcement  did  not  in  the  least 
move  Miss  Rivers  from  her  gravity ;  she.  merely 
observed,  sympathetically,  "  I  am  very  glad.".. 

"This  morning,  when  you  was  out,  a  lady  and 
gentleman  called,  and  looked  at  the  rooms,  and  made 
rather  a  stifiF  bargain.  They  said  they  would  call 
again  ;  but  the  gentleman  gave  me  his  card,  and  that 
looked  like  business." 

"  I  suppose  so.  I  went  over  to  Kensington  this 
morning  to  see  the  postman.  I  thought  it  was  as  well 
to  tell  him  our  new  address,  in  case  there  might  be  a 
letter  for  me." 

"  A  letter  for  you  !  "  repeated  Mrs.  Kershaw,  in  a 
sharp  key,  with  a  sudden  nod  that  set  her  ringlets 
dancing.  "I  thought  Miss  Walker  knew  we  was 
moved.'" 

"  She  does  ;  still  it  is  possible  some  old  friend — " 

"Hoh!"said  Mrs.  Kershaw,  ironically.  "Are 
you  sure  it  ain't  a  new  friend — a  Scotch  friend  ?  I 
know  I  haven't  no  right  to  ask,  but — " 

"Ah,  suspicious  one  !  "  interrupted  Ella,  laughing. 
"  If  none  of  my  father's  old  friends  seek  me  out,  no 
one  else  will." 

"There's  the  front-door  bell !"  cried  Mrs.  Ker- 
shaw, excitedly  ;  "  that's  the  lady  and  gent  come  back 
about  my  first  floor  " — a  pause  ensued,  a  rapid  but 
heavy  tread,  and  the  opening  of  the  door  Avas  heard. 


RALPH  WILTON'S  IVEIRD.  2II 

The  next  moment  that  of  the  room  in  which  they 
were  was  flung  violently  open,  and  the  "girl"  an- 
nounced a  "  gentleman  for  Miss  Rivers." 

Whereupon  a  tall  figure  seemed  to  fill  up  the 
door-way,  and  for  a  moment  Ella  felt  dizzy  and 
blinded  with  astonishment,  with  mingled  joy  and  ter- 
ror, as  Colonel  Wilton  entered  and  stood  still. 

"  Hoh  !  "  said  Mrs.  Kershaw ;  "  do  you  know  this 
gentleman,  or  is  he  after  the  apartments  ?  " 

"  I  know  him.     I—"  faltered  Ella. 

"Hoh  ! '■  again  said  Mrs.  Kershaw,  and,  turning 
back,  walked  straight  out  of  the  room  with  dignity. 

Wilton  closed  the  door  after  her,  and,  advancing 
to  the  agitated  girl,  exclaimed,  with  a  tinge  of  stern- 
ness, "  Ella,  have  you  hid  from  me  purposely  ?  " 

"  Hid  from  you  ?  No  ;  you  knew  where  to  find 
me  when  poor  Donald  died." 

"  Which  I  first  heard  of  in  Ireland  two  days  ago." 

"  Two  days  ago  !  "  faltered  Ella,  the  truth  dawning 
on  her.  "  I  thought  you  would  have  known  of  it 
directly.  I  thought  you  did  not  write  because  you  did 
not  wish  to  see  me  again.  I — oh,  listen  to  me, 
understand  me !  "  clasping  her  hand  with  a  re- 
strained eagerness  very  impressive — "  do  not  think  1 
would  willingly  have  caused  you  the  slightest  uneasi- 
ness from  any  petty  idea  of  standing  on  my  dignity  ; 
but,   indeed,   I   was   puzzled    what  to   do,   and    then 


212  RALPH  IVILTOX'S  WEIRD. 

believing,  as  I  did,  that  you  must  have  been  informed 
of  Donald's  death  and  the  breaking  up  of  Sir  Peter's 
establishment,  I  concluded  that  you  had  changed  your 
plans — your  views — your — -oh,  I  could  not  write  to 
you  !     Do  you  not  see  I  could  not  ? " 

"  I  can  only  repeat  that  two  days  ago  I  did  not 
know  of  that  poor  boy's  death.  And,  but  for  a  few 
words  in  a  letter  from  Moncrief,  I  should  have  started 
for  Monkscleugh  to  keep  the  tryst.  Now,  Ella,  are 
you  glad  to  see  me?  do  you  believe  me?" — as  he 
spoke  Wilton  took  both  her  hands,  and  looked  eagerly 
into  the  eyes  so  frankly,  but  gravely,  raised  to  his. 

"  I  do  believe  you,"  said  Ella,  trying  to  speak 
steadily,  and  striving  to  hold  back  the  tears  that 
would  well  up,  to  suppress  the  wild  throbbing  of  the 
heart  which  visibly  heaved  her  bosom,  to  be  calm,  and 
mistress  of  herself  in  this  crisis  ;  but  it  was  more  than 
even  her  brave  spirit  could  accomplish  ;  the  sudden 
change  from  darkness  to  light,  from  isolation  to  com- 
panionship, was  too  overwhelming ;  and  yet  she 
would  not  show  the  shattered  condition  of  her  forces. 
"I  am  glad  to  see  you  " — her  lip  quivered,  great  un- 
shed tears,  brimming  over,  hung  sparkling  on  her 
long  lashes  as  she  spoke  ;  and  Wilton,  gazing  at  the 
sweet  face  and  slight,  graceful  figure,  felt  in  his  in- 
most soul  the  pathos  of  her  controlled  emotion, 

"  By  Heaven,   Ella !  you    are    not    indifferent   to 


RALPH  WILTON'S  IVEIRD. 


213 


me,"  he  exclaimed.  Drawing  her  to  him,  he  raised 
her  hands  to  clasp  his  neck;  and,  folding  his  arms 
round  her, '  pressed  her  passionately  to  his  heart. 
"  My  love,  my  life  !  why  do  you  distrust  me  ?  Give 
me  your  heart !  give  me  yourself  Are  you  ready  to 
fulfil  your  more  than  half  promise  ?  I  have  kept  the 
tryst.  I  have  submitted  to  the  test  you  have  im- 
posed ;  and  now,  what  further  barrier  is  there  between 
me  and  happiness  .'  Do  you  love  me,  Ella  }  Will 
you  love  me  ?  " 

She  did  not  attempt  to  move.  She  leaned  against 
him,  silently,  trembling  very  much  ;  at  length  she 
sighed  deeply. 

"  If  you  are  quite  sure  of  yourself,"  she  almost 
whispered,  "  and  not  afraid  of  linking  yourself  with  so 
isolated  a  creature  as  I  am,  I  am  ready  to  keep  my 
word,  as  you  have  kept  yours  !  " 

"  And  you  love  me  ?  "  asked  Wilton,  bending  over 
her,  hungering  for  her  assurance. 

She  extricated  herself  gently  from  him,  still  leaving 
her  hand  in  his. 

"  I  will  love  you,"  she  replied,  looking  away,  and 
speaking  thoughtfully.  Then,  suddenly  turning,  and 
meeting  his  eyes  with  a  grand  frankness,  "  I  do  love 
you,"  she  said,  in  her  sweet,  firm  tones  ;  "  and  I  think 
you  deserve  my  love !  If  you  do  not,  out  with  love 
and  life,  and  everything  !     I  shall  never  believe  more." 


214  RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 

She  pressed  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  and  for  a 
moment  Wilton's  passionate  longing  to  cover  her 
mouth,  her  cheek,  her  brow,  with  kisses,  was  checked 
by  the  earnestness,  the  solemnity  of  her  words  ;  it 
was  but  a  moment,  the  next  she  was  in  his  arms,  his 
lips  clinging  to  hers  as  though  he  could  never  drink 
enough  of  their  sweetness. 

"  And  how  did  you  find  me  ?  "  asked  Ella,  when  at 
last  she  managed  to  withdraw  from  his  embrace,  and 
began  to  gather  her  drawing  materials  together  as  a 
diversion  from  the  strange,  sweet  embarrassment  of 
the  new  relations  existing  between  them. 

Wilton  replied  by  recapitulating  the  search  he  had 
made,  up  to  the  miserable  night  before. 

"When  I  arrived  at  Gothic  Villa  this  morning," 
he  went  on,  "  I  was  considerably  before  the  time  of 
the  second  delivery  ;  but  at  last  I  met  the  postman, 
and  explained  myself  to  him.  'Gothic  Villa,  Ker- 
shaw,' he  repeated.  'Now  that's  curious.  Not  ten 
minutes  ago  I  met  a  young  lady  what  used  to  be  at 
Gothic  Villa,  and  she  wanted  to  give  me  her  new 
address,  but  I  told  her  she  must  leave  it  at  the  district 
office.'  You  may  guess  the  questions  I  put,  and  how 
I  gathered  that  the  young  lady  was  yourself  He  had 
a  confused  idea  you  said  your  abode  was  in  Belinda 
Terrace,  Netting  Hill,  and  I  have  been  for  nearly  the 
last  three  hours  endeavoring  to  discover  it.  Finding 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


215 


there  was  no  such  place  as  BeHnda  Terrace,  I  tried 
my  luck  in  Melina  Crescent,  and,  after  knocking  and 
ringing  at  eleven  doors,  found  the  right  one  at  last !  " 

"Then  had  I  walked  down  the  street,  instead  of 
meeting  the  postman  at  the  lop  of  it,  I  should  have 
met  you,"  said  Ella,  pausing  in  her  occupation,  with 
her  design  in  her  hand. 

"  Yes ;  and  saved  me  three  hours  of  torture," 
exclaimed  Wilton.  "  Wliat  have  you  there  ?  This  is 
a  very  charming  design  ;  quite  your  own  ? " 

"Yes,   quite.      Some  days   ago    I    took    a   much 

smaller  one  to  a  shop  in Street,  and   the  man 

there  gave  me  two  pounds  and  two  shillings  for  it. 
Then  he  asked  me  to  bring  him  something  else,  larger 
and  richer,  so  I  have  been  trying  to  sketch  something 
better." 

"  My  own  darling,"  said  Wilton,  taking  it  from  her ; 
"  this  sort  of  thing  is  over  now.    No  more  work  for  you." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  she  returned.  "  You  say,  dear  friend, 
that  you  are  not  rich.  If  I  am  really  to  be  your  com- 
rade through  life,  why  may  I  not  earn  some  money 
for  us  both?     Life  without  work  must  be  very  dull." 

"  When  you  are  my  wife,  you  will  see  such  things 
are  impossible,"  said  Wilton,  laying  aside  the  sketch, 
and  drawing  her  to  his  side  on  a  little,  hard,  horse- 
hair, lodging-house  sofa.  '"'  I  have  so  much  to  say,  so 
much  to  urge  on  you,  I  hardly  know  where  to  begin." 


21 6  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

Whereupon  he  plunged  into  a  rapid  statement  of 
his  plans,  his  hopes,  his  strong  conviction  that,  calmly 
and  dispassionately  considered,  her  position  and  his 
own  rendered  an  immediate  marriage  absolutely  and 
imperatively  necessary.  She  had  no  one  to  consult, 
nor  any  protector  to  rely  upon  save  himself,  and  the 
sooner  he  had  a  legal  claim  to  be  her  protector  the 
better.  As  to  himself,  no  one  had  a  right  to  interfere 
with  him ;  nevertheless,  there  was  an  old  man,  a  rela- 
tive, who  might  make  himself  disagreeable  if  he  had 
time.  After  marriage,  all  objections,  interference,  or 
meddlings,  would  be  useless. 

"I  have  a  favorite  sister  to  whom  I  shall  write 
at  once,"  concluded  Wilton,  "  but  she  is  away  in 
Canada.  So,  dearest,  why  should  we  submit  to  the 
discomfort  of  needless  delay  ?  I  shall  have  a  renewal 
of  leave,  but  only  for  a  couple  of  months,  part  of  which 
must  be  spent  in  effecting  an  exchange  into  some  regi- 
ment in  India,  or  going  there.  You  see  there  will  be 
little  left  for  the  honeymoon.  What  do  you  say  to 
this  day  week  ?" 

Wilton  felt  the  hand  he  held  suddenly  tighten  on 
his  with  a  quick,  startled  pressure. 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on  ;  "  there  is  no  possible  objec- 
tion. You  have  been  at  least  three  weeks  in  this 
parish,  which  is,  I  believe,  the  legal  requirement. 
There  is,  then,  no  impediment ;  and,  though  it  seems 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WELLED. 


217 


very  like  urging  you  to  take  a  leap  in  the  dark,  you 
must  either  trust  me  altogether  or  throw  me  over. 
\\'e  are  too  peculiarly  situated  to  perform  the  cold- 
blooded ceremony  of  cultivating  each  other's  acquaint- 
ance ;  we  must  do  that,  as  I  believe  all  people  really 
do,  after  rather  than  before  marriage.  Besides,  I  am 
so  desperately  afraid  of  your  melting  away  out  of  my 
grasp,  as  you  had  nearly  done  just  now,  that  I  am 
determined  not  to  lose  my  hold." 

"  Listen  to  me,"  said  Ella,  drawing  away  her  hand 
and  pressing  it  to  her  brow.  "  You  mentioned  a  rela- 
tive to  whom  your  marriage  might  be  painful.  Do  you 
owe  this  old  man  love  and  respect  ?  I  think,  if  you 
do,  it  is  hard  to  those  who  feel  they  ought  to  be  con- 
sidered to  find  an  utter  stranger  preferred." 

"  Lord  St.  George  has  not  the  shadow  of  a  claim 
on  my  love  or  respect,"  returned  Wilton^  rising  and 
pacing  to  and  fro  ;  "  and  if  he  had  it  would  not  influ- 
ence me.  Now  that  you  have  really  consented  to  be 
my  wife,  nothing  save  death  shall  come  between  us." 

There  was  in  his  voice,  and  look,  and  gesture, 
such  fire  and  resolution  that  a  sudden  sense  of  being 
in  the  presence  of  something  stronger  than  herself 
thrilled  Ella  with  a  strange  fear  and  pleasure.  She 
closed  her  eyes,  and  her  hands,  that  had  clasped  each 
other  tightly,  relaxed  as  she  felt  her  life  had  passed 
from  her  own  keeping  into    another's.     Wilton,  who 


2i8  RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 

had  paused  opposite  her,  saw  how    deeply  she  was 
moved. 

"Look  at  me,  Ella!"  he  exclaimed,  taking  her 
hands  in  his — "  look  at  me  1  You  are  too  nobly  frank 
to  hesitate  as  to  a  day  sooner  or  later  in  the  fulfilment 
of  your  promise." 

She  turned  to  him  ;  and,  with  a  wistful,  earnest 
look  straight  into  his  eyes,  said,  in  a  low,  firm  voice: 

"  So  be  it !  I  will  keep  my  word  when  and  where 
you  like." 

Two  days  after,  Major  Moncrief,  who  had  only 
seen  Wilton  once  for  a  few  minutes  in  the  interim, 
awaited  him  by  appointment  at  Morley's,  where  they 
they  were  to  dine. 

"Why,  what  the  deuce  are  you  so  desperately 
busy  about?"  asked  the  major,  as  Wilton  hastily 
apologized  for  not  having  been  ready  to  receive  his 
friend. 

"  Oh,  I  have  a  hundred  things  in  hand.  I  have 
had  to  'interview'  my  lawyer,  and  then  I  have  been 
with  Box  and  Brushwood  about  exchanjrinij  into  a 
regiment  under  orders  for  Indfa — and — but  the  rest 
after  dinner." 

"  Why,  what  are  you  up  to  now  ? "  reiDlied  Mon- 
crief, but  not  in  the  tone  of  a  man  that  expects  a  direct 
reply. 

Dinner  passed  very  agreeably,  for  Wilton  was  in 


RALPH  IVILTOX'S  WEIRD. 


219 


brilliant  spirits.  Not  for  many  a  year  had  Moncrief 
see  him  so  bright. 

"  I  believe  this  is  the  same  room  we  dined  in  the 
day  you  started  for  Monkscleughj  and  had  the  smash  ?" 
observed  Moncrief,  as  the  waiter,  having  placed  dessert 
on  the  table,  left  the  friends  together. 

"It  is,"  said  Wilton,  looking  round.  "That  is 
rather  curious  ;  and  I  remember  your  saying,  '  I  must 
dree  my  weird.'  Well,  Moncrief,  I  have  dreed  it,  and 
I  asked  you  here  to-day  to  tell  you  the  history,  and 
receive  your  blessing  or  malediction,  as  the  case 
may  be." 

Setting  down  his  glass  of  port  untasted,  the  major 
stared  at  his  friend  with  an  air  of  dismay  and  bewil- 
derment. 

"  Courage,  man  !  "  continued  Wilton,  laughing  at 
his  consternation  ;  "  T  am  not  in  debt — only  in  love, 
and  going  to  be  married  on  Thursday  next." 

"  To  be  married  !  You — who  could  not  oblige 
your  pleasant  relative,  Lord  St.  George,  because  of 
your  invincible  objection  to  lose  your  liberty  ? " 

"Well,  the  liberty » is  gone  long  ago;  so  my  only 
plan  is  to  surrender  at  discretion,  or,  rather,  without 
discretion.  You  remember  a  young  lady  we  met  at 
Brosedale — the  lassie,  in  short,  whom  I  picked  out  of 
the  snow  1 " 

"What!    that  pale-faced,  dark-eyed   little   girl — 


220  RALPH   WILTOX'S   WEIRD. 

young  Fergusson's  companion  or  drawing-mistress  ? 
Why,  she  was  scarcely  pretty." 

"  Just  so.  Well,  I  am  going  to  marry  her  on 
Thursday.     Will  you  come  to  the  wedding  ?" 

Wilton  had  poured  out  a  bumper  of  claret  as  he 
spoke,  and,  with  a  slight,  defiant  nod,  drank  it  off. 

'•  By !  "    exclaimed    Moncrief,   who   did    not 

generally  use  strong  language  ;  "  I  am  astonished, 
when  did  you  decide  on  this  preposterous  piece  of 
foolery  ? " 

"  I  put  things  in  train  last  December,  but  the 
date  was  not  decided  till  two  days  ago." 

"  Ha  !  I  thought  I  smelt  a  rat  just  before  I  left 
Glenraven  ;  but  I  never  dreamed  of  anything  so  seri- 
ous. You  are  the  last  man  I  should  have  accused  of 
such  idiotic  weakness.     Who  is  this  girl  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  Who  was  her  father  ?  " 

"  A  political  adventurer,  I  believe ;  but  I  really 
do  not  know." 

"  Who  are  her  friends  ?  " 

"She  has  none." 

"  And,  my  God  !  Wilton,  are  you  going  to  link 
yourself  for  life  to  a  woman  you  know  nothing  about 
— who  may  have  a  murderer  for  her  father  and  a  har- 
lot for  a  mother — who  may  be  an  unprincipled  adven- 
turess herself,  for  aught  you  know  ?  " 


RALPH    IVILTOX'S    WEIRD.  221 

"  Go  on,"  said  Wilton,  calmly.  "  I  know  you 
have  a  good  deal  more  to  say,  and  I  am  quite  pre- 
pared to  hear  it."  -— 

"  Can  you  be  such  a  besotted  blockhead  at  this 
time  of  life,  after  having  get  over  the  wild-goose 
period,  and  not  so  badly  either  ;  when  you  have  just 
been  oftered  your  first  good  chance,  when  a  sensible 
marriage  is  so  important,  as  to  throw  every  consider- 
ation to  the  dogs  for  a  madness  that  probably  a 
month  or  two  will  cure,  and  leave  you  two-thirds  of  a 
lifetime  to  eat  your  heart  out  with  useless  regret? 
You  know  I  do  not  pretend  to  despise  women,  or  to 
talk  cynical  rot  about  them  ;  they  are  generally  good, 
useful  creatures,  and  deucedly  pleasant  sometimes  ; 
but,  God  bless  my  soul,  lad  !  they  are  of  no  real  im- 
portance in  a  man's  life.  It  is  very  essential  to 
marry  the  right  sort  of  girl,  I  grant — that  is,  a  well- 
bred,  healthy,  good-looking  lassie  in  your  own  grade 
of  life,  you  will  bring  a  good  connection  to  back  up 
your  children  ;  but  to  rush  into  matrimony — down- 
right legal  matrimony — with  a  creature  that  scarcely 
knows  who  she  is  herself,  because,  indeed,  you  think 
po  other  '  she  '  in  creation  so  likely  to  suit  you,  is  a 
pitiable  piece  of  lunacy.  Come  !  in  the  name  of 
common-sense,  of  self-respect,  be  a  man  !  Tell  me 
how  you  stand  with  this  girl,  and  let  me  see  if  I  can't 
get  you  out  of  the  scrape." 


222  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"  Have  you  quite  done?"  asked  Wilton,  leaning 
back  in  his  cliair  without  the  slightest  symptom  of 
irritation. 

"I  have." 

"Then  hear  me,  Moncrief!  I  do  not  dispute  a 
sellable  you  say.  It  is  all  unanswerable — ^just  what  I 
should  say  myself  to  another  fellow  on  the  brink  of 
such  a  leap  in  the  dark.  Don't  suppose  I  am  blind 
to  the  apparent  folly  I  am  about  to  commit.  But  I'll 
do  it !  Nothing  can  hold  me  back  !  I  shall  not  at- 
tempt to  explain  to  you  the  sort  of  fascination  Ella 
Rivers  has  had  for  me  from  the  first  moment  we  met ; 
it  would  be  speaking  an  unknown  tongue,  even  if  I 
could  put  it  into  language.  But  if  her  people  were 
all  you  picture,  by  Heaven  !  I  do  not  think  I  could 
give  her  up.  Foolish  lunatic — besotted  as  you  choose 
to  think  me,  I  have  full  faith  in  the  woman  who  will 
be  my  wife  before  five  days  are  over.  There  !  Con- 
sider the  question  '  to  be  or  not  to  be  '  settled.  Pity 
my  idiotic  folly  as  you  will,  but  do  not  discard  your 
old  prot'gd.  I  want  your  advice  on  one  or  two 
points." 

"But,  Wilton,  I  must — "  began  the  major. 

"  Don't,"  interrupted  Wilton.  "  .Remonstrance  is 
sheer  loss  of  time  and  breath  ;  if  you  persist,  I  will 
leave  you  to  finish  your  port  alone." 

Moncrief  succumbed,  though  with  an  ill  grace,  and 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


223 


Wilton  proceeded  to  lay  the  question  of  exchange  into 
a  regiment  already  in  India,  or  one  about  to  proceed 
there,  before  his  ancient  mentor,  and  gradually  drew 
him  into  better  humor,  especially  as  he  noted  that  Wil- 
ton's professional  ambition  was  by  no  means  dulled  or 
engulfed  by  the  tide  of  passion  that  swept  him  away 
in  another  direction. 

''  Well,  I  never  thought  I  should  find  you  looking 
forward  contentedly  to  a  life  in  India,"'  said  the  major, 
after  a  long  and  animated  talk,  anent  the/rfiijand  cons 
of  Wilton's  views  ;  ''  you  used  to  long  for  a  stake  in 
the  'old  countrie.'" 

"Yes  ;  but  that  was  because  Lord  St.  George  put 
it  into  my  head.     Now,  that  is  at  an  end." 

"Ah  !  just  so — this  infernal  marriage  !  What  do 
you  intend  to  do  with  him,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  have  not  given  it  a  thought — or,  rather,  scarcely 
a  thought.  I  will  marry  first,  and  decide  after.  I 
tell  you  candidly,  Moncrief,  when  first  I  made  up  my 
mind  to  risk  everything,  rather  than  part  with  Ella,  I 
had  a  stupid,  cowardly  idea  of  a  private  marriage  ; 
but  I  soon  gave  that  up  ;  it  was  too  deucedly  ungen- 
tlemanlike ;  and  then  Ella  would  despise  even  a 
shadow  of  double-dealing !  No  ;  when  we  are  mar- 
ried, and  I  have  time,  I  will  write  to  the  old  viscount, 
and—" 

"  By  George  !  this  is   too  bad,"  cried  the  major, 


224 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


getting  up  and  pacing  the  room  in  an  agony.  "  For- 
tune, and  fair  prospects,  and — and  everything  flung 
overboard,  for  the  sake  of  a  white-faced  bit  of  a  girl 
that  you  would  forget  in  two  months  if  you  made  the 
first  stand.  It's  like  giving  up  drink  or  cigars;  the 
first  week  is  the  brunt  of  the  battle  !  " 

"  Don't  talk  blasphemy,"  returned  Wilton,  stern- 
ly ;  "  nor  waste  time  and  breath." 

"  Well,  well  !  "  resumed  the  rebuked  major ;  "  look 
here,  do  not  be  in  too  great  a  hurry  to  write  to  the  old 
peer.  I  met  St.  George  Wilton  to-day  ;  he  told  me 
Lord  St.  George  was  down  at  Brandestone,  and  very 
shaky  ;  perhaps  you  had  better  not  write  to  him  till 
the  honeymoon  is  over.  O  Lord  !  won't  you  be 
ready  to  cut  your  throat  when  you  get  his  answer  ! 
But  I  trust  he  will  die,  and  leave  you  the  property  in 
the  meantime." 

"He  will  not  do  that,"  said  Wilton,  gravely. 
But,  tell  me,  what  is  St,  George  doing  in  town  ?  I 
hate  that  fellow  instinctively." 

"  Oh,  he  was  only  passing  through  en  route  to  join 
some  '  Lord  knows  who  '  at  Cowes,  to  cruise  somewhere 
in  his  yacht,  and — Where  are  you  going?  " 

"  Why,  you  will  not  take  any  more  wine,  and,  as  I 
have  not  seen  Ella  to-day,  I  thought  I  would  just  run 
down  and  bid  her  good-night.  Come  with  me,  old 
fellow,  do  !  I'd  take  it  as  a  real  bit  of  good-fellowship; 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  225 

she  would  be  so  pleased.     You  may  as  well  submit  to 
the  inevitable  with  a  good  grace." 

"Go  with  you  to  see  this — ahem  ! — fascinating  lit- 
tle witch  ?  Not  to  get  the  step  I've  been  waiting  for 
these  seven  years." 


226  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  extremely  sudden  and  unorthoaox  character 
of  Ella's  nuptials  was  a  source  of  irritation,  not 
to  say  dismay,  to  the  worthy  Mrs.  Kershaw.  She 
took,  upon  the  whole,  a  desponding  and  distrustful 
view  of  human  nature  ;  and,  instead  of  meeting  Ella's 
smiling,  blushing  account  of  Colonel  Wilton's  visit 
and  her  engagement  to  him,  with  effusive  sympathy, 
she  had  nodded  her  head  and  knitted  her  brows,  asked 

# 

a  dozen  questions,  and  received  the  replies  in  ominous 
silence  ;  at  last  spoke  as  follows  : 

"Well,  I  hope  it's  all  right  "  (the  "hope"  in 
italics),  "but  it's  curious — very  curious.  Are  you 
quite  sure  he  is  Colonel  Wilton  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Because  he  was  frequently  at  Brosedale,  and 
known  to  Sir  Peter  Fergusson." 

"  Ay,  to  be  sure,  that's  true  !  I  suppose  it's  to  be 
a  private  marriage.  We  must  see  that  it  is  quite  cor- 
rect, for,  high  or  low,  a  wife  has  her  rights.  What  did 
he  say  about  going  to  church  ?  " 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


227 


"  Oh  !  I  scarcely  know ;  something  about  my  having 
been  three  weeks  in  the  parish,  and — " 

"Did  he?"  returned  Mrs.  Kershaw  ;  a  more  sat- 
isfied expression  stealing  over  her  face.  "  That  looks 
like  business,  only  I  trust  and  hope  he  has  not  a  wife 
already.'" 

"  What  a  fearful  suspicion  !  "  replied  Ella,  shud- 
dering, while  she  smiled.  "  He  was  looked  upon  as 
an  unmarried  man  at  Brosedale,  for  I  remember  that 
Donald  remarked  that  Miss  Saville  could  find  time  to 
amuse  him  now,  because  Colonel  Wilton  condescended 
to  visit  him,  and  that  he  would  be  a  peer,  a  nobleman, 
one  day." 

*'  A  peer  !  a  lord  !  well,  I  never  !  Of  all  the  queer 
turns,  this  is  the  queerest.  Still,  I  would  like  to  make 
sure  tliat  there  is  no  hitch  nowhere.  But,  bless  your 
heart,  no  gentleman  or  nobleman  would  go  to  church 
with  a  girl  unless  he  was  all  square." 

"  I  must  trust  him  utterly,  or  not  at  all,  he  said. 
I  do  trust  him,"  said  Ella,  softly,  to  herself,  "even  as 
he  trusts  me."  She  was  sitting  on  the  hearth-rug, 
gazing  dreamily  at  a  small  but  bright  morsel  of  fire 
held  together  by  fire-bricks. 

"  Trust  is  a  word  I  never  liked,"  observed  Mrs. 
Kershaw,  who  was  sitting  bolt  upright  in  an  easy  chair. 
"  Ready  money,  in  everything,  is  my  motto  ;  still,  I 
must  say,  this  gendeman  seems  straightforward."   Mrs. 


228  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

Kershaw's  opinions  had  become  visibly  modified  since 
the  rank  of  her  fair  proiiigis  intended  had  been 
revealed  to  her. 

"  I  think  he  is,"  said  Ella,  simply. 

"  Anyhow,  I  will  speak  to  him  myself  to-morrow," 
continued  Mrs.  Kershaw,  *'  and  let  him  know  you  have 
a  friend  to  look  after  you  as  knows  the  world,"  she 
added,  emphatically.  Silence  ensued  ;  for,  in  truth, 
Ella  was  too  glad  of  the  cessation  of  Mrs.  Kershaw's 
wiry  voice  to  break  it,  when  that  lady  burst  out  again 
with  a  jerk  :  "  You'd  best  take  my  jDarlors — they 
ought  to  be  thirty  shillings  a  week,  but  I  will  give 
them  to  you  for  a  guinea." 

"But  why  must  I  take  them  ?  "  asked  Ella. 

"  Because —  Why,  my  patience,  Miss  Rivers,  you 
are  not  going  to  turn  stingy,  and  you  going  to  be  a 
great  lady.  Why  must  you  take  them }  Because  it  is 
only  decent  and  proper ;  there's  scarce  room  to  turn 
round  in  a  three-cornered  cupboard  like  this  place. 
I'm  sure  a  fine,  handsome  man  like  the  colonel  hasn't 
room  to  move  here ;  and  then  for  the  wedding.  This 
day  week  did  you  say.-"  Why,  whatever  shall  w-e  do 
about  wedding  clothes?  Still  I  wouldn't  say  nothing 
about  putting  off;  you'd  better  strike  while  the  iron  is 
hot !  But  have  you  thought  of  the  wedding  clothes, 
Miss  Rivers?" 


RALPH   WILTON'S  WEIRD.  229 

"  No,  I  do  not  want  any.  I  have  more  clothes 
than  I  ever  had  in  my  life  before." 

"  I  declare  to  goodness  you  are  the  strangest  young 
girl — lady  I  mean — I  ever  met ;  so  mean-spirited,  in 
a  manner  of  speaking,  in  one  way,  and  no  more  know- 
ing the  value  of  money  in  another,  than  a  half-saved 
creature  !  Why,  you  have  nothing  but  blacks  and 
grays." 

"  And  may  I  not  marry  in  gray ;  but  if  it  is  right 
I  shall  be  very  pleased  to  have  a  pretty  new  dress 
and  bonnet ;  I  have  quite  money  enough,  you  know." 

"  Well,  I  must  say  it  is  aggravating  that  we  can't 
have  a  regular  spread,  and  carriages  and  favors ; 
wouldn't  that  nasty,  humbugging,  stuck-up-thing,  Mrs. 
Lewis,  over  the  way,  that  is  always  insinuating  that  I 
haven't  laid  down  new  stair-carpeting  because  I 
couldn't  spare  the  money — wouldn't  she  be  ready  to 
eat  her  own  head  off  because  she  wouldn't  be  asked 
to  step  across  ?  " 

But  in  spite  of  Major  Moncrief  and  Mrs.  Kershaw, 
Ralph  Wilton  had  his  way.  and  they  were  married  on 
the  appointed  day.  The  major  was  so  far  mollified 
that  he  stood  by  his  favorite  "  boy  "  on  the  memorable 
occasion  ;  nay,  more,  with  some  hesitation  he  produced 
a  pair  of  lump  gold  ear-rings,  largely  sprinkled  with 
turquoise,  as  a  small  and  appropriate  gift  to  his  friend's 
bride,  when,  to  the  dismay  of  all  present,  it  was  found 


230  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

that  the  pretty  little  ears  they  were  destined  to  adorn 
had  never  been  pierced. 

"  It  is  no  matter,"  said  Ella,  taking  his  hand  in 
both  hers,  "I  should  rather  keep  them,  just  the  very 
things  you  thought  of,  than  let  them  be  changed ! 
You  like  me  for  his  sake  now  ;  you  may  yet  like  me 
for  myself." 

To  this  the  major  gravely  replied  that  he  did  not 
doubt  it,  and  watched  her  with  observant  eyes  during 
the  ceremony.  The  keen  old  soldier  was  touched 
and  impressed  by  the  steady  composure  of  her  man- 
ner, the  low,  clear  music  of  her  firm  tones.  It  seemed 
to  him  as  if  she  had  considered  the  value  of  each  vow, 
and  then  took  it  willingly  ;  he  was  surprised  when  the 
service  was  concluded,  and  he  again  took  her  hand  to 
find  that,  although  outwardly  calm,  she  was  trembling 
from  head  to  foot. 

They  returned  to  Mrs.  Kershaw's  house,  where 
that  excellent  housewife  had  provided  a  comfortable 
and  appetizing  luncheon — the  major  having  the  honor 
of  escorting  her  back.  "  I  can  tell  you,  sir,"  he  used 
to  say  in  after-years,  when  recounting  the  episode, 
"  I  felt  devilish  queer  when  I  handed  the  landlady  into 
the  brougham  and  took  my  place  beside  her.  If.  she 
had  been  a  buxom  widow,  or  a  gushing  spinster,  I 
could  have  stood  it  better  ;  but  she  was  such  a  metal- 
lic female !  her  hair  curled  up  so  viciously,  and  there 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD.  23 1 

was  such  a  sus|)icious,  contemptuous  twist  in  her  nose, 
as  if  she  was  perpetually  smelling  a  rat,  that  I  was 
afraid  to  speak  to  her.  I  know  I  made  an  ass  of 
myself.  I  remember  saying  something  about  my 
friend's  good  luck,  thinking  to  propitiate  her,  but  she 
nearly  snapped  my  head  off,  observing  that  time 
would  show  whether  either  of  them  was  in  luck  or  not." 

The  luncheon,  however,  was  duly  appreciated  by 
the  mollified  major,  Mrs.  Kershaw  herself,  and,  we 
regret  to  add,  the  bridegroom,  who  was  in  radiant 
spirits.  There  was  something  contagious  in  his  mood 
— something  inspiriting  in  the  joy  that  rioted  in  his 
bright  brown  eyes — even  Mrs.  Kershaw  lit  up  under 
his  influence,  and  for  awhile  forgot  the  suspicious 
character  of  the  human  race.  But  the  repast  was 
soon  over.  Wilton  was  anxious  to  catch  the  tidal 
train,  and  Ella  went  obediently  to  don  her  bonnet  and 
travelling-gear. 

"  Look  at  this,  Moncrief,"  said  Wilton,  when  they 
were  alone,  holding  out  a  miniature  in  a  slightly-faded 
morocco  case ;  "  it  is  a  picture  of  Ella's  father." 

Moncrief  scrutinized  it  with  much  interest.  An 
exquisitely  painted  portrait,  it  represented  a  dreamy, 
noble  face,  dark  as  a  Spaniard,  with  black-blue  eyes, 
closely  resembling  his  daughters,  a  delicately-cut, 
refined  mouth,  unshaded  by  moustache,  and  a  trifle  too 
soft  for  a  man  ;  the  turn  of  the  head,  the  whole  bearing 


232 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


more  than  conventionally  aristocratic,  picturesquely 
grand. 

"  There  is  no  question  about  it,  Wilton,  this  man 
looks  every  inch  a  gentleman.  Have  you  any  idea 
who  the  mother  was  ?  " 

"  Not  the  most  remote.  I  do  not  think  Ella  has 
an  idea  herself;  she  says  she  had  a  charming  picture 
of  her  mother,  but  it  disappeared  soon  after  they  came 
to  London,  and  she  has  never  been  able  to  tind  it. 
She  has  a  box  full  of  letters  and  papers  up  stairs,  and, 
when  we  return,  I  shall  look  through  them  and  try  to 
trace  her  father's  history,  just  to  satisfy  my  sister  and 
yourself  Ella  will  always  be  the  same  to  me,  ances- 
try or  no  ancestry." 

"  Ey-the-way,where  are  you  going  ? "  said  the  major. 

"  Oh  !  to  Normandy — to  a  little  out-of-the-way 
place  within  a  few  miles  from  A — — ,  called  Vigeres. 
There  is  very  good  salmon-fishing  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  we  shall  be  quiet." 

"When  shall  you  be  back  ? " 

"I  cannot  tell  ;  I  suppose  I  must  not  take  more 
than  six  weeks'  holiday." 

"Well,  I  would  not  write  to  old  St.  George  till  you 
come  back." 

"  I  am  not  sure  about  that ;  I — '" 

"  Here  is  Miss— I  mean  Mrs.  Wilton,"  interrupted 
Moncrief. 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  233 

With  sweet,  grave  simplicity,  Ella  offered  a  parting 
kiss  to  her  husband's  friend.  Mrs.  Kershaw  stepped 
jauntily  to  open  the  door.  A  hearty  hand-pressure 
from  Moncrief,  whose  rugged  countenance  was  sor- 
rowfully'sympathetic,  and  the  newly-wedded  pair  were 
away. 

"Won't  you  step  in,  sir,  and  take  another  glass 
of  wine?  "  said  Mrs.  Kershaw,  with  startling  hospital- 
ity, to  the  uneasy  major,  who  felt  in  comparative 
captivity,  and  by  no  means  equal  to  the  occasion. 

"No  ;  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  the  major, 
edging  toward  the  door. 

"  A  little  bit  of  pigeon-pie,  or  a  mouthful  of  cheese, 
or  a  drop  of  stout  to  wind  up  with,"  persisted  Mrs. 
Kershaw.  "  You  may  say  what  you  like,  there's  noth- 
ing picks  you  up  like  a  drop  of  stout." 

"  No,  I  thank  you  ;  nothing  more." 

"I  hope  everything  was  to  the  colonel's  satisfac- 
tion ? "  resumed  Mrs.  Kershaw,  with  an  angular  smile. 

"  He  would  have  been  hard  to  please  if  he  had  not 
been  satisfied,"  returned  the  major,  with  grovelling 
servility  ;  and,  taking  up  his  hat,  tried,  by  a  flank 
movement,  to  get  between  the  enemy  and  his  line  of 
retreat. 

"  I  am  sure  he  is  a  real  gentleman,  and  knows  how 
to  behave  as  sich.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  deal  with  lib- 
eral, right-minded  people,  what  isn't  forever  haggling 


234 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 


over  sixpences  and  shillings.  But,  between  you  and 
me,  sir,  though  I  am  none  of  your  soft-spoken,  hum- 
bugging  sort,  I  never  did  meet  the  match  of  Miss  Ella 
— Mrs.  Wilton,  I  mean — she  is  that  good  and  steady, 
a  wearin'  of  herself  to  the  bone  for  any  one  that  wants. 
And  for  all  the  colonel's  a  fine  man,  and  a  pleasant 
man,  and  an  open-handed  man,  if  ever  he  takes  to 
worriting  or  bla'guarding,  I  would  help  her  through 
the  divorce-court  with  the  last  shilling  that  ever  I've 
scraped  together  rising  early  and  working  hard  ;  you 
mind  that." 

With  these  emphatic  words,  Mrs.  Kershaw  flung 
the  door  suddenly  wide  open,  and  the  major,  bow- 
ing, hastily  shot  into  the  street,  with  a  rapidity  more 
creditable  to  Mrs.  Kershaw's  eloquence  than  his  own 
steadiness  under  fire. 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  235 


CHAPTER  XL 

OH  !  the  bliss  of  those  early  days !  The  strange 
sweetness  of  their  new  companionship  !  The 
weather,  too,  was  propitious — balmy  and  mild,  though 
spring  was  yet  young,  with  unutterable  freshness  and 
hope  in  its  breath  and  coloring.  The  delicious  sense 
of  safety  from  all  intruders  ;  the  delight  of  being  at 
home  with  Ella  ;  of  winning  her  complete  confidence. 
Never  before  had  Wilton  tasted  the  joy  of  associating 
with  a  woman  who  was  neither  a  toy  nor  a  torment, 
but  a  true,  though  softer,  comrade,  whose  every  move- 
ment and  attitude  charmed  and  satisfied  his  taste, 
and  whose  quick  sense  of  beauty,  of  character,  and  of 
the  droll  sides  of  things,  gave  endless  variety  to  their 
every-day  intercourse. 

Theirs  was  no  mere  fool's  paradise  of  love  and 
kisses.  Sketching  and  fishing,  the  days  fliew  by. 
Wilton  had  decided  that  the  little  inn  at  Vigeres  was 
too  noisy  and  uncomfortable  to  be  endured,  and  Ella- 
had  found  lodgings  in  the  house  of  a  small  proprietor, 
who  sometimes  accommodated  lovers  of  the  gentle 
craft,  and,  moreover,  found   favor  in  the  eyes  of  the 


236 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


landlord  and  his  bright-eyed,  high-capped  Norman 
cook  and  house-keeper,  her  fluent  French  an'd  knowl- 
edge of  foreign  housewifery  exciting  admiralion  and 
respect.  It  was  a  straggling,  gray-stone  edifice,  just 
outside  the  village,  with  a  very  untidy  yard  behind, 
and  a  less  untidy  garden  in  front,  where  a  sun-dial,  all 
mossed  and  lichen-covered,  was  half  buried  in  great, 
tangled  bushes  of  roses  and  fuchsias  ;  on  this  a  large, 
scantily-furnished  salon  looked  out,  and  beyond  the 
garden  on  an  undulating  plain,  widi  the  sea  and 
Mont  St.  Michel  in  the  blue  distance,  with  a  dark 
mass  of  forest  on  the  uplands  to  the  south — a  wide 
stretch  of  country,  ever  changing  its  aspect,  as  the 
broad  shadows  of  the  slow  or  quick-sailing  clouds 
swept  over  it,  or  the  level  rays  of  the  gradually  length- 
ening sunset  bathed  it  with  the  peculiar  yellow,  golden 
spring  light,  so  different  from  the  rich  red  tinge  of 
autumn.  Winding  round  the  base  of  tlie  abrupt  hill 
on  which  Vigeres,  like  so  many  Norman  villages,  was 
perched,  was  a  tolerably  large  stream,  renowned  in  the 
neighborhood,  and,  though  left  to  take  care  of  itself, 
still  affording  fair  sport.  It  led  away  through  a  mel- 
ancholy wood  and  some  wide,  unfenced  pasturage,  to 
the  neglected  grounds  of  a  chateau,  with  the  intendant 
of  which,  Wilton,  aided  by  Ella,  held  many  a  long  talk 
on  farming,  politics,  and  every  subject  under  the  sun. 
These   rambles    had   an    inexpressible  charm — a 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD.  237 

mingled  sense  of  freedom  and  occupation.  Tlien  the 
repose  of  evening,  as  night  closed  in  ;  the  amuse- 
ment of  watching  Ella  at  her  work  or  drawing  ;  to 
lead  her  on  to  unconsciously  picturesque  reminis- 
cences ;  to  compare  their  utterly  different  impres- 
sions and  ideas — for  Ella  was  not  self-opinionated  ; 
though  frank  and  individual,  she  was  aware  her  con- 
victions were  but  the  echo  of  those  she  had  heard  all 
her  lite,  and  she  listened  with  the  deepest  interest  to 
her  husband's,  even  while  she  did  not  agree.  These 
pleasant  communings  were  so  new  to  Wilton,  so  dif- 
ferent from  all  his  former  experience,  that  perhaps 
time  has  seldom  sjDed  on  so  lightly  during  a  honey- 
moon. Ella  was  utterly  unconventional,  and  yet  a 
gentlewoman  to  the  core,  transparently  candid,  and, 
if  such  a  term  can  be  permitted,  gifted  with  a  noble 
homeliness  that  made  affectation,  or  assumption,  or 
unreality  of  any  kind,  impossible  to  her.  Whether 
she  made  a  vivid,  free  translation  from  some  favorite 
Italian  poet  at  Wilton's  request,  or  took  a  lesson 
from  him  in  tying  flies,  or  gave  him  one  in  drawing, 
or  dusted  their  sitting-room,  or  (as  Wilton  more  than 
once  found  her)  did  some  bit  of  special  cooking  in 
the  big.  brown  kitchen,  while  Manon  looked  on,  with 
her  hands  in  her  apron-pockets,  talking  volubly,  she 
was  always  the  same — quiet,  earnest,  doing  her  very 
best,  with  the   inexpressible  tranquillity  of  a  single 


238 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


purpose.  Then  the  shy  tenderness  and  grace  of  her 
rare  caresses — the  delicate  reserve  that  had'always 
something  yet  to  give,  and  which  not  even  the  terrible 
ordeal  of  wedded  intimacy  could  scorch  up — these 
were  elements  of  an  inexhaustible  charm — at  least  to 
a  man  of  Wilton's  calibre. 

It  was  evening — the  evening  of  a  very  bright,  clear 
day.  Wilton  had  started  early  on  a  distant  expedition, 
with  a  son  of  their  host  for  a  guide,  and  had  returned 
to  a  late  dinner.  It  had  been  too  long  a  walk  for 
Ella  to  undertake,  and  now  she  sat  beside  her  hus- 
band under  the  window  of  their  salon,  in  the  violet- 
scented  air  of  an  April  night,  as  it  grew  softly  dusk. 
Wilton  was  enjoying  pleasant  rest,  after  just  enough 
fatigue  to  make  it  v^'elcome,  and  watching,  with  a  lazy, 
luxurious  sense  of  satisfaction,  the  movements  of 
Ella's  little  deft  fingers,  as  she  twisted  some  red  ribbon 
into  an  effective  bow,  and  pinned  it  upon  an  edifice 
of  lace,  which  Wilton  could  not  quite  make  out. 

"  What  can  that  thing  be  for,  Ella  ?  You  are  not 
going  to  wear  il?"  he  asked,  at  last. 

"Wear  it?  Oh,  no!  It  is  for  Manon  ;  she 
begged  me  to  make  her  a  Parisian  cap.  I  advised 
her  to  keep  to  her  charming  Norman  head-dress  ;  but 
no  !  Monsieur  le  Cure's  house-keeper  has  a  cap  from 
Paris,  and  Manon  is  not  to  be  outdone  ;  so  she  gave 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


239 


me  the  lace,  and  I  contributed  the  ribbon.  Do  you 
know,  this  lace  is  very  lovely  ?     Look  at  it." 

"  I  suppose  it  is  ;  but  I  am  glad  to  find  you  admire 
lace  ;  I  was  afraid  you  were  above  dress." 

"Indeed  I  am  not;  but  I  always  liked — I  had 
almost  said  loved — lace.  I  would  prefer  lace  to 
jewels,  if  the  choice  were  offered  me.  And  then  a 
hat  or  a  bonnet  is  a  source  of  joy,  if  they  suit  me." 

"  And  we  have  been  here  nearly  a  month — " 

"  A  month  yesterday,"  observed  Ella,  softly,  with  a 
happy  smile. 

"Time  passes  quickly  in  paradise,"  said  Wilton, 
leaning  caressingly  toward  his  companion. — "  But,  I 
was  going  to  say,  we  have  been  here  a  month,  and  you 
have  never  had  a  chance  of  shopping.  It  is  a  dear 
delight  to  shop,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Ella,  laughing,  and  turn- 
ing her  work  to  view  it  on  all  sides.  "  I  never  had 
any  money  to  spend  in  shops." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  under  fire — I  mean  in 

temptation.     Suppose  we  go  over  to  A for  a  day 

or  two  \  that  is  the  nearest  approach  to  a  dazzling 
scene  we  can  manage  ?  " 

"  As  you  like  ;  but,  dear  Ralph  " — looking  wist- 
fully out  over  the  garden — "  I  love  this  place,  and  am 
loath  to  take  even  a  day  from  the  few  that  remain  to 
us  here.     I  suppose  we  must  soon  leave  for  London  ?  " 


240  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"  You  would  like  to  stay  here  always  ?  " 

"No,"  returned  Ella,  "  certainly  not ;  stagnation 
would  not  suit  either  of  us,  though  I  deeply  enjoy  this 
sweet  resting-place.     It  will  soon  be  time  to  move  on." 

"  We  have  a  fortnight  still  before  us,  so  we  will  run 

over  to  A to-morrov.'.     Our  host  can  lend  us  his 

shandradati,  with  that  monstrous  gray  mare,  to  drive 
over  there.  I  know  you  expressed  a  great  wish  to 
sketch  some  of  those  picturesque  old  towers  as  we 
came  through,  and  you  shall  buy  some  lace  if  you  like. 
I  have  had  so  much  fishing  that  I  shall  come  back 
with  renewed  zest  after  a  short  break." 

"  Yes  ;  I  should  greatly  like  to  take  some  sketches 

in  A ;  but,  as  to  buying  lace,  do  you  know  we 

spend  a  quantity  of  money  here — I  am  astonished  and 
shocked  to  think  how  much?" 

"Then  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  a  very  extravagant 
fellow,  for  I  do  not  think  I  ever  spent  so  little  in  the 
same  space  of  time  before.  But,  talking  of  money 
reminds  me  I  must  write  to  Lord  St.  George.  I  have 
forgotten  all  about  him — all  about  every  one  except 
you,  you  little  demure  sorceress  !  " 

"Do  not  forget  him,  if  he  is  old  and  a  relation." 

*'  Well,  I  will  write  to  him  to-morrow.  It  is  not 
much  matter  ;  he  will  never  see  my  face  again." 

*'  Because  you  married  me  ?  " 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  24I 

"  This  is  really  a  very  picturesque  place,"  said 
Ella  as  they  strolled  through  the  principal  street  of 

A ,  and  ascended  the  plateau,  once  adorned  by  a 

cathedral,  "  but^  after  all,  there  is  more  cheerfulness 
in  English  scenery.  I  miss  the  gentlemen's  seats,  the 
look  of  occupation,  the  sense  of  life  that  springs  from 
individual  freedom.  Tyranny  and  want  of  cultivation 
— these  are  the  real  '  phantoms  of  fright.'  " 

"  Yes  ;  we  have  never  mistaken  license  for  liberty 
in  England,"  returned  Wilton,  with  genuine  John- 
Bullism. 

"  Thanks  to  your  early  training,"  said  Ella,  smil- 
ing ;  "  but  if  for  centuries  you  had  never  been  allowed 
to  stand  or  walk  without  leading-strings,  supports, 
restraints  on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left,  and  had 
then  been  suddenly  set  free,  with  all  accustomed  stays 
wrenched  from  you,  do  you  think  you  would  not  have 
stumbled  and  fallen  like  your  neighbors  ?" 

"  True,  O  queen  !  but  why  did  not  our  neighbors 
begin  to  train  themselves  in  time?  They  are  of  dif- 
ferent stuff;  there  lies  the  key  to  the  puzzle." 

"  And  in  the  might  of  circumstance,"  put  in  Ella. 
"  You  can  never  thank  Heaven  enough  for  your  insu- 
lar position  ;  but  there  is  something  in  race." 

"  No  doubt  of  it.  Look  at  this  man  coming 
toward  us  ;  you  could  never  mistake  him  for  anything 

but  a  Briton." 
16 


242 


RALPH  JV/LTOX'S  WEIRD. 


"  No,  indeed  !  "  exclaimed  Ella  ;  "  and  " — drawing 
a  little  near  to  him — "  is  it  not  your  cousin,  S^t.  George 
Wilton  ? "  ' 

"  By  Jove  !  you  are  right,  Ella.  What  can  bring 
him  here? " 

The  object  of  their  remark  was  facing  them  as 
the  colonel  ceased  to  speak. 

"Ralph  Wilton— Miss— "  St.  George  stopped 
himself  in  his  exclamation,  and  then  continued,  raising 
his  hat  with  a  soft  but  meaning  smile,  "  I  little  thought 
I  should  encounter  you  in  this  remote  region !  " 

"  Nor  I  you,"  returned  Wilton,  bluntly.  "  Mrs. 
Wilton  and  I  have  been  staying  near  this,  at  a  place 
called  Vigcres,  where  there  is  very  tolerable  fishing, 
and  drove  over  this  morning  to  look  at  this  old  town. 
What  brings  you  so  far  from  the  haunts  of  men.?" 

"  The  vagaries  of  an  old  w'oman,  if  it  be  not  too 
irreverend  to  say  so,"  replied  St.  George,  raising  his 
hat  again  with  profound  respect  as  his  cousin  pro- 
nounced the  words  "Mrs.  Wilton."  "I  have  an 
aged  aunt  who,  for  some  inscrutable  reason,  chooses 
to  mortify  her  flesh  and  spare  her  pocket  by  residing 
here.  I  never  dreamed  I  should  meet  with  such  a 
vision  of  happiness  as — Mrs.  Wilton  and  yourself  in 
this  fossilized  place." 

There  was  just  a  slight,  significant  pause  before 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


243 


the  name  "Mrs.  Wilton,"  which  caught  her  husband's 
ear,  and  it  sounded  to  him  like  a  veiled  suspicion. 

*'  Where  are  you  staying  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  at  the  Hotel  du  Nord.  INIy  aunt  wishes  the 
pleasure  of  a  visit  from  me,  but  declines  to  put  me 
up." 

"  We  are  just  going  to  dine  at  your  hotel,"  said 
Colonel  Wilton^  "  and  will  be  very  happy  if  you  will 
join  us." 

St.  George  accepted  his  cousin's  invitation  with 
his  best  air  of  frank  cordiality.  It  was  a  very  pleas- 
ant dinner;  nothing  could  be  more  agreeable  than 
the  accomplished  attach'.  His  tone  of  cousinly  cour- 
tesy to  Ella  was  perfect;  his  air  of  well-regulated 
enjoyment  positively  exhilarating.  Wilton  never 
thought  he  should  like  his  kinsman's  society  so  much. 
Even  Ella  warmed  to  him  comparatively,  and,  though 
more  disposed  to  listen  than  to  talk,  contributed  no 
small  share  to  the  brightness  of  the  conversation. 

At  last  it  was  time  to  undertake  the  homeward 
drive  to  Vigeres,  some  four  or  five  miles  up  and  down 
hill.  While  waiting  for  the  remarkable-looking  ve- 
hicle in  which  the  journey  was  to  be  performed,  St. 
George  Wilton  found  a  moment  to  speak  with  his 
cousin  alone. 

"  And  it  is  a  real  bona  fide  marriage,  Ralph  ?  " 

"  Real  as   if  the  Archbishop   of  Canterbury  had 


244  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

performed  it,  with  a  couple  of  junior  oflficers  to  help 
him."  -: 

St.  George  was  silent,  and  affected  to  busy  himself 
in  preparing  a  cigar.  Not  even  his  trained  self- 
control  could  enable  him  to  command  his  voice  suffi- 
ciently to  hide  the  enormous  contempt  that  such  a 
piece  of  frantic  insanity  inspired. 

"  So  very  charming  a  person  as  Mrs.  Wilton,"  said 
he  at  last,  blandly,  "  may  well  excuse  the  imprudence 
of  a  love-match  ;  but  let  me  ask,  merely  that  I  may 
know  how  to  act,  is  it  an  open  as  well  as  a  boiia  fide 
marriage  ?  I  mean,  do  you  wish  it  concealed  from 
our  friend  Lord  St.  George,  because — " 

"Certainly  not,"  interrupted  Colonel  Wilton.  ''I 
have  not  written  to  inform  him  of  it,  for  he  has  left 
my  last  letter  some  months  unanswered,  and  I  did  not 
think  he  cared  to  henr  from  me  ;  but,  as  it  is  possible 
he  may  fancy  1  intended  to  make  a  secret  of  my 
marriage,  I  will  write  to  him  to-morrow." 

"It  is  not  of  much  importance,"  said  St.  George, 
checking  the  dawning  of  a  contemptuous  smile. 
"  Whatever  view  he  takes  of  the  subject  will  be  inimi- 
cal to  your  interests.  Suppose  I  were  to  call  upon 
him  and  explain  matters  ?  I  start  for  London  to-mor- 
row morning." 

"  I  will  not  trouble  you,"  said  Wilton  a  little  stiffly; 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD.  245 

and  Ella,  appearing  at  that  moment  in  the  door-way, 
the  conversation  took  a  different  turn. 

"  Draw  your  cloak  closer,  Ella,"  said  her  husband, 
as  they  proceeded  homeward  under  the  soft  silver  of 
a  young  May  moon  at  the  sober  pace  which  was  their 
steed's  fastest;  "  there  is  a  tinge  of  east  in  the  wind. 
I  began  our  acquaintance  by  wrapping  you  up,  and  I 
see  I  shall  always  be  obliged  to  make  you  take  care 
of  yourself." 

"I  take  care  of  myself  now"  she  replied,  nestling 
nearer  to  him.  "  I  did  not  think  your  cousin  could 
be  so  agreeable,"  she  continued. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Wilton,  shortly. 

'■Yet,"  resumed  Ella,  "  I  can  never  banish  my 
first  impression  of  him." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  That  he  could  always  keep  faith  in  the  letter  and 
break  it  in  the  spirit ;  that  he  could  betray  in  the  most 
polished  manner  possible,  without  ever  committing 
any  vulgar  error  that  law  or  society  could  fasten 
upon." 

"  Upon  my  soul,  you  have  made  a  very  nice  esti- 
mate of  the  only  member  of  your  new  family  with 
whom  you  have  come  in  contact.  And  where,  pray, 
have  you  found  such  well-defined  ideas  of  treachery? 
I  did  not  think  there  was  so  much  of  this  world's  lore 
in  that  pretty  little  head.     How  did  you  learn  it  ?  " 


246  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"Ah,  treachery  is  a  thing  I  have  often  known  ! 
The  wonder  is,  as  my  father  used  to  say,  that,  where 
so  many  powerful  temptations  surrounded  us,  iX)or 
political  outcasts,  so  few  proved  false." 

"  Yet  you  have  not  learned  to  be  suspicious, 
Ella  ?  " 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  No  one  who  is  really  true  at 
heart  ever  really  learns  to  be  suspicious." 

Wilton  fulfilled  his  intention  the  following  day, 
and  wrote  a  short,  simple  account  of  his  marriage  to 
Lord  St.  George,  regretting  that  he  should  be  a  source 
of  disappointment  to  him,  and  stating  that  be,  of 
course,  held  him  quite  exonerated  from  any  promise, 
implied  or  not,  respecting  his  property. 

It  was  quite  a  relief  to  him  having  acconnDlished 
this.  He  had  now  cut  himself  adrift  from  all  chances 
of  social  preeminence  ;  it  remained  to  work  up  in  his 
profession,  and  his  thoughts  naturally  turned  to  India. 
Great  changes,  civil  and  military,  were  pending  there  ; 
his  own  services  had  been  recognized  by  men  high 
in  office  ;  already  the  breath  of  the  outer  world  had 
»  somewhat  withered  the  loveliness  of  his  Arcadia — it 
was  time  for  him  to  be  up  and  doing. 

"Ella!  come  here,  darling.     I  am  afraid  we  must  . 
go  back  to  London  and  common  life  next  week  ;  so 
let  us  make  an   expedition   to    Mont   St.  Michel  to- 
morrow.    How  docs  the  tide  serve?" 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  247 

Three  or  four  happy  days  were  spent  in  visiting 
the  strange  fortress-prison  and  Old-World  pictur- 
esque little  town  of  Granville  ;  in  delicious  rambles 
and  abundant  sketching.  Ella  was  absolutely  excited 
by  the  wealth  of  subjects,  all  of  a  new  character  to 
her,  which  offered  themselves  for  her  pencil.  But 
Wilton  had  exhausted  his  slender  capacity  for  repose, 
and,  having  thoroughly  enjoyed  himself,  was  once 
more  longing  for  active  life. 

The  day  but  one  after  their  return  from  this  brief 
expedition,  a  letter  reached  Wilton  from  the  family 
solicitor.  He  had  been  out  smoking,  and  talking  of 
farming  with  the  landlord  ;  and  Ella  remarked,  as  he 
took  the  letter,  that  he  exclaimed,  as  if  to  himself, 
"  From  old  Kenrick  !  what  can  he  want  ?  "  His 
countenance  changed  as  he  read  :  and  then,  throwing 
down  the  letter,  he  cried,  "I  wish  to  Heaven  I  had 
written  to  him  before  !  He  has  passed  away,  doubt- 
ing me  !  " 

"Who?"  asked  Ella,  trembling  with  a  sudden 
apprehension  of  evil. 

"  Poor  old  St.  George  ! — the  old  man  of  whom  I 
have  spoken  to  you.''  ^ 

"  Your  marriage  has  not  broken  his  heart,  I  trust  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  am  not  sure  he  had  a  heart  to  break.  But, 
Ella,  you  have  turned  pale,  my  own  darling  !  Do  not 
torment  yourself;  the  living  or  dying  of  every  one 


248  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

belonging  to  me  can  never  affect  my  happiness  with 
you;  you  are  worth  them  all  to  me.  Cut  this  letter — 
here,  read  it."  And,  passing  one  arm  roufid  her, 
Wilton  held  out  the  letter  for  her  to  peruse.  "You 
see,"  he  continued,  "  Kenrick  (he  is  Lord  St.  George's 
solicitor  and  the  Wiltons'  solicitor  generally)  says  he 
has  died  suddenly  without  a  will.  I  am  his  heir-pre- 
sumptive and  nearest  of  kin — the  only  person  entitled 
to  act  or  to  give  directions.  We  must,  therefore, 
start  for  London  to-morrow.  I  will  see  Monsieur  le 
Propricitaire,  and  settle  with  him  at  once." 

Ella  sighed,  and  cast  one  long  look  out  into  the 
garden,  where  the  bees  were  humming  and  the  first 
roses  blooming,  and  away  over  the  variegated,  map- 
like country  beyond,  with  its  distant,  dim  blue  line  of 
sea — a  farewell  look  at  the  scene  where  she  had  tasted 
for  the  first  time  in  a  somewhat  sad  existence,  the 
divine  cup  of  full,  fresh  delight ;  then,  holding  her 
cheek  to  her  husband's  kiss,  gently  disengaged  herself 
and  went  away  to  prepare  for  turning  over  a  new  leaf 
in  the  book  of  life. 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


249 


(( 


:  CHAPTER  XII. 

I  ^HERE  is  not  the  slightest  use  of  making  any 

-*-  search  for  a  will.  I  know  there  is  none. 
Lord  St.  George  made  me  carefully  destroy  the  last 
one  he  had  executed  only  the  day  before  his  death. 
Indeed,  he  had  given  me  instructions  to  draw  up 
another  so  exceedingly  inimical  to  your  interests  that 
I  determined  to  be  as  slow  as  possible  in  carrying 
out  his  intentions.  Now,  his  death  intestate  has 
left  everything  to  you,  Colonel  Wilton — I  beg  par- 
don, my  lord." 

So  spoke  Mr.  Kenrick — a  grave,  well-bred,  exceed- 
ingly professional  man — as  Wilton  sat  at  the  opposite 
side  of  his  knee-hole  table  in  the  well-known  office 
of  Kenrick  and  Cole,  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  the  morn- 
ing after  his  arrival  in  London. 

''No;  I  prefer  being  Ralph  Wilton  still.  I  sup- 
pose I  need  not  adopt  the  title  if  I  do  not  like?  We 
must  remember,  Kenrick,  that  poor  St.  George's 
daughter  may  be  still  alive,  and  may  have  a  host  of 
children." 

"  That  is  certainly  possible,  though  it  is  a  possi- 


250  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

bility  I  had  wellnigh  forgotten.  Forgive  me  for 
saying  so,  but  I  Iieartily  wish  you  had  been  a  little 
less  impetuous.  Six  weeks'  patience  would  have  seen 
you  possessed  of  ample  means  to  support  your  title, 
and  free  to  choose  a  wife  where  you  liked." 

"Ay ;  but  who  could  foresee  the  course  of  events? 
I  could  not  have  acted  a  double  part  with  the  poor 
old  man,  nor  could  I  have  postponed  my  marriage. 
In  short,  there  is  no  use  in  discussing  the  question  ; 
tell  me  what  Lord  St.  George  said  when  he  sent  for 
you." 

"  I  found  him,"  replied  the  lawyer,  "looking  ter- 
ribly  ill,   although,  as  usual,  accurately  dressed  and 
quite    composed.     I   had.  by   his  directions,   brought 
with  me  the  will  he  had  executed  a  few  months  ago — 
a  will  bequeathing  everything  to  you,  Colonel  Wilton. 
His  first  question  was,  '  Have  you  heard  that  my  heir 
has  selected  a  wife  at  last  ?  '     I   replied  I  had  not ; 
and  he  went  on  to  say  that  you  had  at  first  concealed 
your  marriage,  but,  having  met  Mr.  St.  George  Wilton, 
and  thinking  concealment    no  longer  necessary,  you 
had  written  to  him.     He  showed  me  your  letter,  and 
said  he  had  a  visit  from  your  cousin,  who  gave  him  a 
true  version  of  the  affair,  with  much   more  that  was 
not  flattering,  and   need   not  be  repeated.     He  then 
made  me  destroy  the   will  in  his  presence,  and  gave 
me   instructions   to   prepare    another,   by   which    he 


RALPH   WILTON'S  WEIRD.  25  I 

bequeathed  his  large  property  to  the  Foundling  Hos- 
pital, adding  a  grim  jest  as  to  the  probability  of  some 
of  his  own  grandchildren  profiting  by  the  bequest.  I 
must  say,  however,  that  he  seemed  principally  affected 
by  the  apparent  attempt  to  conceal  your  marriage." 

"  That  was  never  my  intention,''  said  Wilton,  much 
disturbed,  while  he  walked  up  and  down.  "  But  I  wish 
to  Heaven  I  had  written  to  him  at  once !  The  fact  is, 
I  knew  that  I  had  cut  myself  off  from  him  completely 
by  my  marriage,  and  thought  it  little  mattered  when  I 
announced  it     Then  I  forgot  to  write." 

"  And  most  things,  probably,"  said  Mr.  Kenrick, 
with  a  grave  and  slightly  compassionate  smile.  "  The 
next  morning  my  late  client  was  found  by  Saunders — 
his  man,  who  has  been  so  long  with  him — lying  pla- 
cidly on  his  bed,  but  life  was  quite  extinct.  He  must 
have  been  dead  some  hours." 

"  I  cannot  tell  you,  Kenrick,  how  confoundly  sorry 
I  am  to  have  caused  him  this  annoyance  ! " 

"  His  heart  had  long  been  in  a  very  weak  state," 
continued  the  lawyer,  scarcely  heeding  the  interrup- 
tion ;   "  and    his   death    was   certainly   painless.      R 
remains  to  discover  his  daughter's  children." 
"  Or  herself,"  put  in  Wilton. 

"  She  is  dead — I  feel  sure  of  that.  I  perfectly 
remember  my  father  mentioning  to  me  the  terrible 
species  of  exultation    with    which  Lord    St.   George 


252 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


heard  that  his  only  child  was  no  more.  That  must  be 
twenty  years  ago.  I  am  under  the  impression  that 
she  left  no  family.  If  so,  I  shall  be  pleased  to  con- 
gratulate you,  colonel,  on  a  noble  inheritance." 

Wilton  took  another  turn  to  and  fro.  "  I  have 
never  been  used  to  wealth  or  finery,"  he  said.  "  If  I 
could  dispense  with  the  title,  I  should  not  care  much. 
Tell  me — does  nothing  hang  on  to  the  coronet?  " 

"  Well,  I  believe  the  rent  of  one  farm  ;  barely  four 

hundred    a   year.     But  the   house    in    S Square 

belongs  to  you.  It  was  one  of  the  '  bad  '  viscount's 
purchases  ;  and  though  the  late  lord's  father  paid  oflf 
the  various  mortgages  with  which  it  was  loaded,  he 
never  alienated  it  from  the  direct  line." 

"  So  much  the  better  for  me.  And  now,  Kenrick, 
lose  no  time  in  taking  proper  steps  to  discover  the 
daughter's  children." 

"I  will,  of  course;  but  I  have  a  strong  idea  there 
are  none." 

"  Why  ? "  asked  Wilton. 

"  Because  we  should  have  been  sure  to  have  heard 
of  them.  The  father — a  needy  foreigner,  by  all  ac- 
counts— would  never  have  resisted  the  temptation  to 
dip  his  fingers  into  such  well-filled  pockets  as  those  of 
Lord  St.  George  ;  and  the  application  would  have  been 
through  us,  or  referred  to  us.  No,  I  cannot  help  think- 
ing Madame  or  Mrs.  de  Monteiro  left  no  children." 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  253 

"And  I  cannot  help  thinking  she  has.  When  is 
the  funeral  to  take  place  ?  " 

"  The  day  after  to-morrow.     Meantime,  had  you 

not  better  take  up  your  residence  in  S Square  ? 

The  house  is  yours,  and  probably  everything  in  it." 

"  No,  Kenrick  ;  I  could  not  stand  the  house,  nor 
could  Mrs.  Wilton,  I  am  sure.  I  shall  remain  at  the 
hotel  where  we  now  are.  After  the  funeral  we  must 
examine  the  poor  old  man's  letters  and  papers  ;  we 
may  find  some  clue  to  the  real  heir  among  them." 

Meantime  an  outline  of  the  story  began  to  be  told 
at  the  clubs  and  dinner-tables,  now  throbWng  with  the 
convulsive  life  of  the  season. 

To  the  older  members  of  society  the  name  of 
Wilton  had  once  been  familiar,  but  Ralph  had  little 
beyond  regimental  renown  and  a  high  reputation  at 
the  Horse  Guards.  Now,  however,  that  he  was  sup- 
posed to  have  inherited  the  estates  as  well  as  the  title 
of  Lord  St.  George,  relatives  and  connections  gath- 
ered round  him  "thick  as  leaves  that  fall  in  Val- 
ambrosa." 

Ella  was  at  first  bewildered,  as  well  as  surprised, 
at  the  numerous  cards  and  polite  inquiries  for  Lord 
and  Lady  St.  George,  until  Wilton  unfolded  the  whole 
history  for  her  enlightenment,  and  expended  some  bad 
language  on  the  annoyance  of  being  thus  saddled  with 
a  title  he  could  not  support.     Still  he  was  sufficiently 


254 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


alive  to  the  necessit}'  of  his  position  to  insist  on  his 
wife's  supplying  herself  with  proper  and  fashionable 
mourning  at  the  most  select  milliner's  he  cOukl  find 
out.  The  result  delighted  him  and  appalled  Ella. 
The  garments  were  certainly  becoming,  but  never  in 
her  simple  life  had  she  seen  so  much  money  paid  for 
clothes. 

The  operation  of  examining  the  papers  and  letters 
of  one  lately  alert  and  ready  to  defend  the  privacy  of 
his  inner  life  is  full  of  mournfulness.  Even  when  the 
deceased  has  been  neither  well  known  nor  loved,  there 
is  deep  pathos  in  the  silent  appeal  of  death.  All  the 
secrets  of  the  now  empty  "  prison-house  "  lie  bare  and 
at  the  mercy  of  a  successor,  who  may  be  the  last  to 
whom  the  released  tenant  would  have  exposed  them. 
Although  Ralph  Wilton  was  far  from  being  a  senti- 
mentalist^ he  felt  tills  keenly  when,  assisted  by  Mr. 
Kenrick,  he  proceeded  to  examine  the  late  viscount's 
escritoire,  and  various  caskets,  cabinets,  and  jewel- 
cases,  in  hopes  of  finding  some  trace  of  his  possible 
successor.  There  lay,  in  profusion,  the  graceful 
trinkets  bestowed  with  lavish  hand  on  his  wife  and 
child,  exquisite  enamels,  carved  onyx  clasps  and 
brooches,  costly  fans,  old-fashioned  bijouterie — all  the 
beautiful  artistic  trifles  which  accumulate  in  an  ancient 
and  wealthy  family.  The  more  important  jewels  were 
of  course  kept  at  the  bank,  but  quantities  of  valuable 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  255 

nothings  were  scattered  about  the  rooms — miniatures 
of  fair  women  and  lovely  children,  and  one  beautiful 
face  in  every  stage  of  development,  from  an  infant 
peeping  out  from  its  rich  surrounding  of  lace  and  satin 
to  a  stately,  gracious  demoiselle  in  court  dress.  These 
portraits  were  all  in  rooms  and  cabinets  the  most  dis- 
tant, dust-covered,  and  evidently  rarely  opened.  All 
bore  somewhere  about  the  frame  the  initials  E.  L.  A., 
sometimes  plain,  sometimes  entwined  in  a  monogram. 

"These  are  all  portraits  of  Miss  St.  George,"  said 
the  lawyer,  in  the  law  tone  they  both  unconsciously 
adopted.  "  You  can  scarcely  wonder  that  such  a 
marriage  should  almost  have  driven  her  father  mad. 
He  hardly  thought  royalty  good  enough  for  her." 

"What,  in  Heaven's  name,  made  her  throw  her- 
self away  on  a  foreigner  ?  "  exclaimed  Wilton.  "How 
could  she  be  so  mad  ?  " 

"Hum!"  said  Mr.  Kenrick,  dryly;  "imprudent 
marriages  are  always  incomprehensible,  except  to 
those  that  commit  them.'' 

Wilton  looked  up  for  a  monsent,  with  a  flash  of 
indignation  in  his  quick,  brown  eyes,  which,  passing 
rapidly  away,  gave  place  to  a  good-humored  smile. 

"  You  are  right,"  said  he  ;  "  no  outsiders  can  quite 
judge  the  force  of  our  unreasoning  reasons.  You  had 
better  dine  with  us  to-day,  and  let  me  present  you  to 
Mrs.  Wilton." 


256  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"  I  imagine  she  expects  you  to  present  me  to  Lady 
St.  George." 

"You  are  mistaken.  She  is  utterly  indifferent  to 
titles — more  indifferent  than  I  am  ;  but  you  will  dine 
with  us  1 " 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy." 

But  they  sought  in  vain  ;  no  trace  existed  of  the 
viscount's  erring  daughter  after  the  period  of  her  dis- 
graceful marriage.  Of  private  correspondence  very 
little  remained,  and  it  was  decided  to  advertise  for  the 
information  they  wanted. 

"Let  us  have  some  talk  with  Saunders,"  suggested 
Wilton  ;  ''he  was  so  much  with  Lord  St.  George  that 
he  may  be  able  .to  give  us  some  clue  to  what 
we  want." 

The  serious-looking  valet  was  therefore  summoned, 
and  the  lawj-er  shortly  explained  to  him  the  state 
of  affairs. 

"  I  believe  there  was  an  application  of  some  kind 
made  to  my  lord  respecting  his  daughter,"  said  he, 
slowly  and  reflectively;  "but  it  was  a  long  time  back 
— nearly  three  years  ago." 

"  Tell  us  what  vou  know  about  it,"  said  Wilton. 

"It  was  in  the  summer  time,  just  before  we  left 
for  Scotland  that  year,  and  my  lord  was  not  very  well, 
when  one  morning  the  hall-porter  called  me  and  said 
there  was  a  foreign  gentleman  wanted  to  see  my  lord 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


257 


about  a  picture.  I  knew  he  expected  one  or  two  he 
had  bought  in  Italy,  a  few  weeks  before,  to  be  sent 
after  him — the  only  thing  he  seemed  to  care  about 
lately  was  art  j  so  I  went  and  spoke  to  the  gentleman 
— for,  though  he  was  a  queer-looking  customer,  he  did 
not  seem  a  common  fellow.  He  spoke  a  sort  of  bro- 
ken French,  and  said  he  was  Italian  (I  can  speak 
French,  but  not  Italian,)  and  added  that  he  had  called 
to  see  Lord  St.  George  about  a  picture.  So,  as  he 
seemed  quite  fit  to  speak  to  my  lord,  I  went  and 
told  him.  He  says,  '  Show  the  fellow  up.'  I  did  so, 
and  left  them  together.  I  waited  outside,  in  case  my 
lord  should  want  me,  and  presently  I  heard  them 
thundering  at  each  other  in  Italian — not  that  my  lord 
spoke  very  loud,  but  there  was  that  in  his  voice  as 
would  make  any  man  jump.  Presently  he  rang  very 
sharp ;  I  went  in  and  found  him  half-raised  in  his 
chair,  holding  on  by  the  sides  as  if  he  would  dig  his 
fingers  into  them,  as  white  as  marble,  and  his  eyes 
blazing  fire.  There  was  some  torn  paper  lying  at  his 
feet,  and  a  picture  in  an  open  case  on  the  floor  at  a 
little  distance.  The  foreign  chap,"  continued  the  valet, 
warming  into  naturalness,  "  was  standing  looking  at 
him  with  a  dark  frown  on  his  face — the  sort  of  mur- 
derous scowl  those  Italians  can  put  on — and  I  went 
close  up  between  them,  lest  he  might  draw  a  knife. 
'  Turn  this  scoundrel  out ! '  says  my  lord  ;  '  and  mark 
17 


258 


RALPH    WILTON'S    WEIRD. 


him,  Saunders  ;  if  you  ever  find  him  loitering  about 
the  place,  hand  him  over  to  the  police  ! '  With  that 
the  foreigner  gave  an  odd  sort  of  smile,  an^  said  a 
few  words  in  Italian,  hissing  them  through  his  teeth. 
My  lord's  face  changed  as  he  listened,  but  he  waved 
his  hand  toward  the  door ;  and  the  other,  with  a  deep, 
low  bow,  walked  out.  My  lord  had  a  sort  of  fainting- 
fit, and  I  was  a  good  deal  taken  up  with  him,  but  I 
kept  the  picture,  thinking  the  Italian  might  come  back 
for  it;  but  he  did  not.  I  think  it  is  a  miniature  of 
my  lord's  daughter,  for  it  is  very  like  all  the  other 
portraits." 

"But  the  pieces  of  torn  paper,"  asked  the  lawyer, 
quickly — "  did  you  not  by  accident  see  if  anything 
was  written  on  them,  and  what  1 " 

"  Well,  sir,  as  I  was  picking  them  up,  I  did  see 
that  the  writing  was  English,  though  a  foreign-looking 
hand ;  but  all  I  could  make  out  was,  '  Your  only 
daughter's  only  child  so  soon  to  be  an  orphan.'  Then 
my  lord  fainted  away  ;  and  when  I  looked  for  them 
again  the  stupid  girl  had  swept  them  up,  I  can  bring 
you  the  picture,  if  you  wish." 

"By  all  means,"  said  Colonel  Wilton;  and  the 
man  left  the  room. — "  I  wish  to  Heaven,"  he  contin- 
ued, "  he  had  kept  the  letter  instead  of  the  picture  ! 
We  have  portraits  enough  of  the  unhappy  girl ;  the 
letter  might  have  put  us  on  the  track  of  the  heir  or 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  259 

heiress.  Do  you  think  this  Italian  was  the  hus- 
band ?  " 

"  Di  Monteiro  was,  I  believe,  a  Spaniard;  but  Saun- 
ders might  mistake  Spanish  for  Italian  ;  and  then  the 
statement  in  the  letter,  '  the  only  child  of  his  daugh- 
ter so  soon  to  be  an  orphan ' — that  might  be  by  the 
death  of  either  father  or  mother.  But,  no  ;  it  is  quite 
twenty  years  since  the  mother  died." 

Here  the  return  of  Saunders  interrupted  the  law- 
yer's conjectures. 

"  This  is  the  picture,"  he  said,  unfolding  it  from 
some  silver-paper  in  which  it  was  carefully  wrapped. 
The  case  of  dark-purple  leather  had  a  foreign  look  ; 
on  opening  it  a  lovely  face,  most  exquisitely  painted, 
appeared.  It  was  unmistakably  the  same  as  that  so 
frequently  represented  in  the  deserted  chambers  of  the 
mansion  ;  but  changed  and  saddened  and  spiritualized 
in  expression. 

"  This  is  very  beautiful,"  said  Wilton,  looking 
long  and  earnestly  upon  it.  "  Though  evidently  the 
same  face  as  the  others,  there  is  something  familiar  to 
me  in  it  which  the  others  have  not.  I  can  fancy  a  man 
daring  a  good  deal  for  such  a  woman  as  this  !  How- 
ever, it  brings  us  no  clue.  ,We  must  consult  some  of 
these  wonderful  detective  fellows  and  try  what  can  be 
done  by  extensive  advertising.  You  must  now  feel 
satisfied  that  my  poor  cousin  has  left  an  heir  or 
heiress." 


26o  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

"  Heiress,  I  trust,"  replied  Kenrick.  "  A  foreign 
Bohemian,  with  the  recklessness  of  poverty,  and  per- 
haps Communist  principles,  would  be  a  terrible  repre- 
sentative of  the  house  of  Wilton ;  a  woman  would  be 
less  dangerous." 

"  Nevertheless,  quite  as  objectionable,  unless 
caught  very  young  ;  and,  according  to  your  account 
she  must  be  past  twenty.  However,  we  can  do  no 
more  to-day  ;  and,  by  Jove,  it  is  nearly  six  o'clock  ! 
Mrs.  Wilton  was  to  have  met  me  in  Kensington  Gar- 
dens on  her  return  from  a  visit  at  Netting  Hill.  I  shall 
be  scarcely  in  time  to  meet  her.  We  dine  at  seven- 
thirty,  and  shall   have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy  ;  I  am  very  anxious  to 
have  thehonor  of  making  Mrs.  Wilton's  acquaintance." 

"  Well,  then,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  take  charge 
of  this  picture  ?  I  see  you  have  your  inevitable  black 
bag,  and  it  is  rather  large  for  my  pocket.  Pray,  bring 
it  with  you  this  evening.  My  wife  is  a  true  artist,  and 
will  be  charmed  with  it."  ** 

In  these  days  of  pressing  occupation,  it  was  a  rich 
treat  to  KUa  and  Wilton  to  have  an  hour  or  two 
uninterruptedly  together.  A  visit  to  some  of  the 
art-exhibitions,  to  the  opera,  or  to  a  good  play,  was 
sufficient  to  brighten  whole  days  of  comparative  lone- 
liness.    Ella   was  eminently  reasonable.     She  never 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  26 1 

tormented  her  husband  to  know  why  he  was  not  in 
time,  or  indulged  in  querulousness  if  he  was  compelled 
to  break  an  engagement.  She  knew  he  regretted  it 
as  much  as  she  did,  and  was  satisfied. 

On  this  occasion  she  had  waited  patiently,  sitting 
under  a  tree  near  the  Bayswater  Gate  for  nearly  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  sight  of  her  husband's  sol- 
dierly distinguished  figure,  approaching  rapidly,  made 
her  heart  leap  for  joy. 

"I  am. late  !  but  I  could  not  help  it.  And  what 
have  you  been  doing  ?  How  is  the  benevolent  Mrs. 
Kershaw  ? " 

"  Very  well,  indeed  ;  but  a  little  indignant  because 
we  did  not  take  her  'drawing-rooms,'  which  were 
vacant  when  we  came  to  town,  instead  of  going  to  be 
cheated,  as  she  says,  '  up  and  down  '  at  a  hotel." 

"  And  what  did  you  say? "  asked  Wilton,  drawing 
his  wife's  hand  through  his  arm  as  they  strolled 
toward  town. 

''  "  Oh  !  I  told  her  you  had  so  much  to  do,  that 
Melina  Villas  was  too  far  away.  But,  O,  dearest 
Ralph,  I  really  think  dear  old  Diego  must  have  called 
there  while  we  were  in  Normandy.  INIrs.  Kershaw 
was  out,  unfortunately,  but  the  servant  described  a 
'  tall,  black-looking  gentleman,  who  had  very  little 
English.'  He  asked  first  for  Mrs.  Kershaw,  and  then 
for  me.     Now,  no  one  could  ask  for  me  but  Diego." 


262  RALPH   WILTON'S  IVEIKD.. 

"  And,  my  darling,  what  is  Diego  like  ?  is  he  a 
gentleman  ?  "  asked  Wilton,  rather  doubtfully.  - 

"  Yes,  certainly,  a  gentleman  ;  but  not  like  you. 
He  wears  a  velvet  coat — it  is  charming  when  it  is 
new ;  but  he  has  not  always  money,  then  it  gets 
shabby  ;  I  have  seen  it  broken  at  the  elbows  ;  and  he 
has  a  felt  hat,  oh  !  such  a  beautiful  hat  at  first — but — 
I  fear  he  sleeps  in  it  sometimes,  for  it  gets  much  bent. 
But,  when  Diego  has  his  purse  full,  and  new  clothes, 
he  is  lovely  !  I  have  sketched  him  when  they  were 
new,  and  mended  them  when  they  were  old.  He  is 
handsome,  like  a  Salvator-Rosa  brigand.  You  would 
think  he  could  kill  ;  and  he  is  really  as  gentle  and 
simple  as  a  child.  You  are  much  more  fierce  your- 
self, Ralph  " — looking  up  lovingly  into  his  eyes,  with 
very  little  fear  in  her  own.  "  How  I  should  like  to 
see  him  again  !  "  she  continued ;  "  if  we  meet,  you 
must  ask  him  to  dinner." 

Wilton  laughed  heartily. 

"  If  we  do  meet,  I  shall ;  but  he  will  be  a  curious 
guest.  Let  us  have  our  distinguished  cousin,  St. 
George,  to  meet  him." 

"  Would  it  annoy  you,  Ralph,  to  have  poor  Diego 
to  dinner?" 

"  No,  love  ;  but  don't  ask  him  to  live  with  us,  I 
could  not  stand  that." 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Ella,  quietly. 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 


263 


Talking  pleasantly,  they  enjoyed  the  sunshine  of  a 
lovely  afternoon,  till  Wilton,  looking  at  his  watch, 
declared  they  would  be  late  for  dinner,  and  hailed  a 
hansom. 

It  was  very  gratifying  to  Wilton  to  observe  the 
effect  produced  by  Ella  on  the  sedate  Mr.  Kenrick, 
who  was  an  old-young  man.  Her  unconsciousness 
of  self  gave  her  a  high-bred  composure ;  her  perfect 
freedom  from  provincialism — the  result  of  having 
acquired  English  almost  as  a  foreign  tongue — an  air 
of  refinement,  and  her  natural,  simple  readiness  to  lis- 
ten, only  caring  to  speak  when  she  really  had  some- 
thing to  say,  gave  a  charm  to  her  conversation  which 
greatly  impressed  the  cool,  hard-headed  man  of  busi- 
ness. However  blind  love  may  be,  no  man,  unless 
below  the  average  of  int«lligence,  is  so  hoodwinked 
as  not  to  see  when  other  men  think  he  has  a  good 
excuse  for  his  imprudence  or  not 

The  gentlemen  did  not  sit  long  after  Ella  had 
left  them,  and,  on  joining  her,  Mr.  Kenrick  observed, 
'^  I  have  brought  the  picture,  Colonel  Wilton,  as  it  is 
your  pleasure  to  be  so  called." 

And  he  handed  a  small  parcel  to  Wilton,  who, 
opening  it,  said,  "  Look  at  this,  Ella." 

She  was  cutting  the  leaves  of  a  book  which  Wilton 
had  bought  that  morning,  and,  looking  up  quickly 


264  RALPH  IVILTOX'S  WEIRD. 

exclaimed,  "  Ah  !  how  good  of  you  !  you  have  found 
my  picture  for  me.     Where  did  you  find  it?" 

"  Your  picture  !  what  do  you  mean  ? "  he  asked. 

"  The  picture  of  my  mother,  which  was  lost." 

"  You  are  under  some  mistake.  I  do  not  think 
you  ever  saw  this  before." 

"  I  have  seen  it  all  my  life  ;  it  is  my  mother's 
picture." 

"  Your  mother's !  "  exclaimed  Wilton  and  the 
lawyer  together  ;  "impossible." 

"Yet  it  is  so.  If  you  raise  the  frame  here,  at  the 
side,  you  can  take  it  out  of  the  case,  and  you  will  find 
her  name  at  the  back — Elizabeth  Louisa  Adelaide  di 
Monteiro — mine  is  formed  from  her  initials  of  her 
Christian  name." 

The  lawyer  and  Wilton  eagerly  obeyed,  and  found 
the  inscription  as  she  had  described. 

"This  is  very  extraordinary  !  "  exclaimed  Wilton. 

"  It  appears,  then,"  said  Mr.  Kenrick,  "  that,  by  a 
rare  accident,  you  have  married  your  own  cousin,  and 
Lord  St.  George's  heiress.  The  title  and  estates  are 
united." 

"  How  ?     What  does  he  mean  ?  "  asked  Ella. 

"  Tell  me,  Ella,  was  Monteiro  your  father's  name  ?" 

"  Yes,  one  of  them.  His  mother  was  a  wealthy 
Spanish  lady,  his  father  an  Englishman.  He  was 
partly  brought  up  in  Spain,  by  his  mother's  people,  in 


RALPH    IVILTO.V'S    WEIRD.  265 

her  name  ;  he  was  early  an  orphan,  and,  I  imagine, 
very  extravagant.  Afterward,  wlien  immersed  in  poli- 
tics, he  found  it  more  useful  to  use  his  father's  name  of 
Rivers.  He  was  peculiarly  averse  to  mention  my 
mother.  I  never  knew  her  family  name.  Her  picture 
was  always  a  sacred  thing.  My  father,  who  might  have 
been  a  great  artist,  painted  it  himself  Now,  tell  me, 
what  do  your  questions  mean  ?  " 

Whereupon  Wilton,  holding  her  hand  in  his,  told 
her,  as  shortly  as  he  could,  the  strange  story  of  her 
mother's  marriage  and  disappearance ;  of  the  dis- 
pleasure of  her  grandfather  at  his  (Wilton's)  disregard 
of  his  wishes  in  the  choice  of  a  wife  ;  of  the  consequent 
destruction  of  the  will,  and  the  difficulty  in  which  he 
and  Mr.  Kenrick  found  themselves  as  regarded  the 
next-of-kin  ;  with  a  running  accompaniment  from  the 
lawyer  touching  the  nature,  extent,  and  peculiarities 
of  the  property  inherited  by  the  obscure  little  heroine 
of  Wilton's  railway  adventure. 

"  All  this  mine,  which  ought  to  have  been  yours," 
said  Ella,  when  they  were  at  last  silent ;  "  or,  rather, 
yours  through  me — I  do  not  seem  able  to  understand 
or  take  it  in." 

She  pressed  her  hand  to  her  brow. 

"  Dearest,  you  believed  in  me,  and  loved  me,  when 
I  was  desolate  and  poor,  and  utterly  insignificant ; 
now  I  am  thankful  that  I  can  bring  you  wealth  ;  but 


266  RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD. 

oh  !  I  gave  you  most  when  I  gave   you    my   whole 
heart !  " 

Extract  of  a  letter  to  Viscount  St.  George, /rt^w 
Major  Moncrief  — th  Rifles. 

"I  shall  certainly  be  with  you  on  the  12th,  if  noth- 
ing unforeseen  occurs.  I  feel  exceedingly  curious  to 
see  you  in  your  new  home,  and  to  thank  Lady  St. 
George  personally  for  the  plenary  absolution  she  has 
so  kindly  extended  to  me.  I  confess  myself  guilty  of 
the  cold-blooded  worldliness  you  lay  to  my  charge, 
while  I  acknowledge  that  few  men  have  had  a  better 
excuse  for  a  piece  of  extraordinary  imprudence.  If 
we  were  mere  bundles  of  high-toned  emotions,  sym- 
pathies, and  aspirations,  marriages  on  your  system 
might  answer;  but,  being  as  we  are,  much  more 
animal  than  spiritual,  more  self-seeking  than  sympa- 
thetic, is  it  wise  to  act  on  the  impulse  of  a  temporary 
brain  or  blood  fever,  which  puts  a  certain  set  of 
fancies  and  desires  in  violent  action  for  a  time,  only 
to  be  overtaken  and  swept  away  by  the  everlasting 
flow  of  every-day  wants,  ambitions,  and  motives, 
which  always  run  their  course,  however  excitement 
may  blind  us  .-•  But  I  am  growing  too  profound  for  an 
old  soldier;  the  upshot  of  the  argument  is  that  I 
stand  to  my  opinion  in  a  general  sense  ;  your  extraor- 
dinary luck  in  no  way  touches  it.     But  I  most  warmly 


RALPH  WILTON'S  WEIRD.  267 

rejoice  in  your  good  fortune  ;  and,  though  I  greatly 
regret  your  quitting  the  old  regiment,  I  am  not 
surprised  that  your  new  position  necessitates  the  step. 
Yours  is  no  common  story ;  and  I  little  thought,  when 
I  was  'taken  prophetic  '  the  day  you  'interviewed' 
poor  old  St.  George,  that  so  fair  a  lot  would  be  the 
ending  of '  Ralph  Wilton's  Weird.' 

"  Always  your  sincere  friend, 

"  A.  MONCRIEF." 


THE    END. 


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91 


LEISURE  HOUR  SERIES 


EALPIWILTOFSWEIRB 


BY 


MRS.  ALEXANDER 


/§ 


fiii  . 


Henry  HoLf&  Co.  Publishep 
New  York 


■c 


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